“But Bill—” Sanborn began, his eyes on the man called Lambert who had complied with the curt order and was reaching toward the ceiling.
Bill shook his head impatiently. “No time for argument, sir. They are on to your visit and don’t intend to let you leave the house alive. Kolinski is their sacrifice in this deal. He’s probably been killed by this time.”
“Are you sure about this, Bill? How could you possibly learn—”
“We’ve got to hustle,” Bill cut him short. “Explain later. Oh, I’m sure enough, never fear!”
A colored rope was attached to the curtain. He disengaged it and tossed it to Sanborn.
“Now you—” he indicated Lambert, “take a walk to that chair and sit down.”
There was a murderous gleam in Lambert’s eyes as he retreated. He knew, of course, that these two were acting in conjunction, but could not understand these new secret service methods.
“Now tie him up. I’ll keep him covered. He’s got a gun. Better relieve him of it. His game was to shoot you just as soon as your back was safely turned.”
Ashton Sanborn did as he was told, cheerfully, albeit wonderingly. How Bill could have gained his information and what he was up to now were as yet unsolved mysteries. He took away the man’s gun, a blue-nosed automatic. Then, carefully, he tied Lambert’s arms to the back of the chair and roped his legs securely.
“Better lock the door,” was Bill’s next suggestion. “I’ll gag him.”