"Pulled a sneak likely. Wha's it matter? Listen! What's that?"
Some one was coming up the stairs.
The men in the room moved cautiously to the door. The hall light was switched on.
"'Lo, Jerry," Gorilla Dave called softly.
He closed the room door and the sound of the voices was shut off instantly.
The uninvited guest dared not step out of the closet to listen, for at any instant the men might reënter. He crouched in his hiding-place, the thirty-eight in his hand.
The minutes dragged interminably. More than once Clay almost made up his mind to steal out to learn what the men were doing. But his judgment told him he must avoid a brush with so many if possible.
The door opened again.
"Now beat it and do as I say if you know what's good for you," a bullying voice was ordering.
The owner of the voice came in and slammed the door behind him. He sat down at the desk, his back to the closet. Through the chink Clay saw that the man was Jerry Durand.