"This is my property!" faltered Slocum, peering shiftily into Chub's steady eyes.
"You're so blamed careful of it that I'd about made up my mind it belonged to you. Anyhow, drop it on the table. Last call!"
Slocum laid the bottle down.
"By gad," he blustered, "somebody'll pay for this!"
"Look out it ain't you," grinned Chub. "Pick it up, Carl, and we'll take it down to the office, where we can look it over."
"Take that away from here," fumed Slocum, "and I'll——"
As Carl picked up the bottle Slocum made a grab at him.
"Steady!" warned Chub. "Now duck, Carl. We've found out all we can in this place."
With the bottle in his hand Carl walked out of the room. Chub backed out. Taking the key out of the door, he dropped the revolver on the carpet, jumped into the hall, slammed the door and locked it on the outside.
"That's to give him a chance to get over his mad spell before he tried to shoot," Chub grinned as he rejoined Carl and they took their way down-stairs.