Johnny thought he heard his heart’s wild beating. Some creature, small and very fast, shot across the way before them. It was with the utmost difficulty that he kept his lips sealed.
“Now!” Drew’s hand was on the knob. “I’ll throw the door open. You cover ’em. Shoot if they make a false move. Kidnapers have little claim on life.”
“If the door is—”
Johnny did not finish. The door was open. He found himself standing beside Drew in the dark; the candle light of the room was gone. Two bulky figures stood before them. On the table something bright gleamed.
“Guns!” he told himself.
Astonishment all but overcame him as he realized that their presence was not even suspected. Then men were standing with their backs to them.
It took but one glance at the window in the opposite wall to discover the cause of this unheard-of suspense. Outside the window was a grinning, gleaming skull. And even as Johnny saw it there came again that unearthly chuckle.
Quite as paralyzed as those before him, Johnny stood open-mouthed, staring.
It was Drew Lane who broke the spell. “All right there!” His tone was smooth and cold as ice. “You, Tony Piccalo, and you, Spike O’Connor! Just reach for the sky! And if you can’t get it, just keep on reaching!”
With one hand he held his own automatic, with the other he was removing the gangsters’ weapons to his own pockets.