It was a struggle at close quarters, and a very unequal one. Slowly but steadily Matt was forced across the floor.
"Who are you?" he panted. "What are——"
"Whistler!" came a husky voice, "I'm closer to you, now, than I was at the bayou. Saw you coming across the street and opened the door to make it easy for you to get in. I don't know how you found out about this place, but your call here won't do you any good. You've bothered Jurgens and me as long as you're going to, and you and Ferral will never live to get away from this building!"
With that, Matt felt himself hurled roughly backward. He struck against a wall and dropped half stunned to the floor.
The next moment Dick came banging against him, and there followed the clang of an iron door, the rattle of a key, then silence.
"Matt?" called Dick, his voice echoing and reëchoing strangely.
"Here," answered Matt.
"Blest if we smoked Whistler's roll quick enough! We came easy for him—so easy that I'm ashamed of myself. The fact that he was here proves that this is a sort of headquarters for him and Jurgens."
"If this wasn't a rendezvous of theirs, of course Whistler wouldn't have been around."
"Where are we?"