"Eh? Hello—Wildwood!"
"Yes, it's me," said Andy. "A word with you, sir, as to what business you have with my aunt. Then—the stolen eleven thousand dollars, if you please."
Dewey had turned deadly white. He glared desperately at Andy, and tried to wrench his arm free.
"Shall I arouse the street?" demanded Andy sternly. "It's jail for you—"
Crack! The treacherous Dewey had slipped one hand behind him. He had drawn a slung shot from his pocket. It struck Andy's head, and he went down with a sense of sickening giddiness.
"Stop him!" shouted Andy, half-blinded, crawling across the landing.
Dewey made a leap of four steps at a time.
"Out of my way!" he yelled at some obstacle.
"Hold on, mister!"
Andy arose to his feet with difficulty. He clung to the banister, descending the stairs as a frightful clatter rang out.