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At the abandoned farmhouse the gangsters, drowsy from the poison they had taken into their systems the night before, slept late. When at last they awoke, they were in a quarrelsome mood.
Johnny, still sitting on the stairs, hungry, thirsty, longing for sleep, heard them, and trembled.
After half an hour of raving and tramping about the house, the men calmed down and appeared to hold a consultation.
They approached the cellar door. As one heavy bar was thrown back, Johnny dropped noiselessly to the cellar floor.
“The end has come!” he told himself. At the same time he resolved to sell himself as dearly as possible. These were wicked men who richly deserved to die.
The second bar was removed. The door was thrown open. Mike Volpi appeared on the threshold. In one hand, supported by a strap, he carried a three gallon glass jug. The jug was filled to the very top with some colorless liquid. Still carrying the jug, the man made his way unsteadily down the stairs.
“See here!” He spoke with the fierce growl of an angry dog as he looked at Johnny through bleared eyes. “You know where them slugs are. You are going to tell!”
“I do not know where they are,” Johnny answered in a steady, even tone.
His tone angered the gangster.