Pep was a quick thinker. He could not tell how it was, but the minute his eyes lighted on the two strangers he somehow associated them with the group from whom he had anticipated trouble earlier in the night. In fact he was not sure that they were not two members of the quartette who had been the object of the visit of the officer from the city.
“What do you want?” Pep instantly challenged.
For answer his assailant leaped forward and made a grab for him. Pep knew that the intrusion of these men could have no good motive. He dodged, seized a frying pan from the gas stove, and brandished it vigorously.
“I’ll strike!” he shouted. “Don’t you try to hold me!”
“Quiet the young spitfire,” growled the second of the men, and although Pep got in one or two hard knocks with his impromptu weapon, he was finally held tightly by the arms from behind by one of the men. Pep let out a ringing yell, hoping to attract attention from outside, but his friends were by this time in the turmoil of the fire, and the few crossing vacant spaces were shouting and excited like himself.
“I supposed they had all rushed out to the fire,” spoke the man who had first appeared. “Keep this one quiet, if you have to choke him.”
Pep’s captor threw him to the floor and pinned him there with his knee on his breast, despite his wrigglings. He managed to apply a gag. Then he rudely jerked Pep to his feet, holding his wrists together in a vise-like grip.
The flare from the fire and the bright moonlight illumined the room as clearly as day. Some vivid thoughts ran riot in the active mind of Pep as the other man went into one of the partitioned sleeping places.
“That’s right,” called out Pep’s captor. “The boy who had the tin box carried it in there somewhere.”
“Got it!” sounded in a triumphant tone two minutes later, and there was a rattle and a rustling sound.