The burly sergeant nodded his satisfaction.
“Well, if he’s here, we’ll get him,” he declared. As an after-thought: “Got the house surrounded?”
“I’ve thrown a cordon around the whole block,” replied O’Shane. “A mouse couldn’t get through it without getting its neck broke.”
“Good.” Strange drew his revolver, which he had returned to his pocket after entering the room, and tried the handle of the closet door. “Now, men, before we go any farther, let’s get this closet open. It may contain a secret exit, for all we know. Take a chair and burst it in, one of you.”
“Wait, my friend, I know an easier way,” said Peret.
He drew a jimmy from his inside coat pocket, inserted the flattened end in the crack between the door and the jamb, and bore down on the handle. Yielding to the powerful leverage, the door creaked, splintered around the lock and flew open.
“Ten thousand devils!” cried Peret, leaping back.
The body of a dead man rolled out on the floor!
CHAPTER III.
ALINGTON FINDS A CLUE.
Violent death means nothing to the average police official; he comes in almost daily contact with the most brutal and horrible form of it.