He knelt beside the body and unbuttoned the coat and vest.
Placing his ear upon the detective's breast, he listened to the beating of the heart.
But the heart of Caleb Hook had apparently ceased to beat. Nor did his pulse give sign of any movement whatever.
"Dead as a door nail!" said the broker, laconically. "Say, Sam Cutts, have you got such a thing as a big bag?"
"No, an' you don't want it," answered Cutts. "To carry that body down-stairs in a bag! You must be crazy, man. That would never do at all. We'll take him by the shoulders, two of us, and drag him along as though he was blind drunk—paralyzed, don't you see—then no one will suspect anything at all."
"Good! That's the very scheme. Now, then, gents, as it ain't always best for a man to know too much, you had better say good-night, and leave the management of this affair to Rube, Cutts and myself. I feel sure that we have nothing to be afraid of now, for I am confident that this fellow was working alone. If I find that I am wrong, some of us will notify you, you may rest assured. Meanwhile, the appointment remains the same as before, unless you hear to the contrary—Cagney's sanctum, day after to-morrow night."
Several of the men now silently withdrew, leaving the two Cutts—father and son—Callister and Tisdale with their victim.
The sound of their footsteps had scarce died away upon the carpetless stairs when the stock-broker spoke again.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes," answered Cutts, the elder; "I should say we were."