Reaching the door at the head of the cellar steps, Bendlow grasped the knob and wrenched it open. A streak of flame stabbed the darkness and a bullet zummed by Peret’s ear and buried itself in the wall.
“Get him, Sultan,” cried the Wolf, and fired another shot.
Sultan tore down the dark hall, his lower jaw hung low in readiness, but when he reached the end of the hall he found the two prowlers had disappeared and the cellar door was closed.
CHAPTER VI.
THE WHISPERING THING.
If Sultan was doomed to disappointment, so, too, were Peret and his husky companion, for they were not to make their escape as easily as they had at first believed they would. As they climbed from the basement window a dark form loomed up in front of them and a harsh voice commanded:
“Hands up!”
At the same instant the cold muzzle of a revolver came in violent contact with the Frenchman’s nose.
“Diable!” swore Peret softly, and, realizing that he was at the other’s mercy, elevated his hands with alacrity and, with a backward swing of his foot, kicked Bendlow on the shin.
Bendlow, however, needed no such urging. At the first spoken word, he had raised his automatic and taken deadly aim at the dark form in front of Peret. Something in the speaker’s voice, however, made him hesitate to shoot.