“Is—is that Iggy the Snake?” Madame LeClare asked.
“Beyond doubt it is.” Drew’s eyes were gleaming. “He and his gang, the men who killed Jack LeClare, the men we swore to get. And with God’s help we’ll get them yet!” He set his teeth hard.
“You ladies can shoot?” he said in a changed voice.
“As well as any man!” Madame held up her head proudly.
“That’s good! Let’s see.” Drew moved to the cupboard by the stairs. “The Captain showed me a new sort of gas bomb. Yes, here it is. Puts ’em out completely for a full half hour. Be swell if we could use it.”
“But they’ll be a respectful distance away,” Tom Howe objected. “How can we?”
“That’s right. Have to trust our automatics, I guess. Here!” Drew handed one of his guns to Johnny.
“And you.” Tom passed a thing of blue metal to Madame LeClare as if it were a bouquet of roses. She accepted it with a bow.
“There’s no phone—no way of spreading an alarm.” Drew spoke calmly. “No one passes this way at night. They’ve got till morning. Johnny, has the place a cellar?”
“Only a hole for vegetables—no windows.”