“I know it,” O’Sheill admitted. “What am I to do with them?”
“I’m taking a chance if they are found on me,” the younger man commented. “But they are not after me. Give me what you have,” he cried.
Into this keeping the frightened O’Sheill confided certain letters which later were to prove such an admirable aid to the United States Government.
It was as Trent turned to the door that he heard steps coming along the passage as softly as the creaking boards permitted.
He placed his fingers on his lips and enjoined silence. The furtive sound completed O’Sheill’s distress. He felt himself entrapped. Trent saw him take from his hip pocket a revolver.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Wait.”
He turned down the gas to a tiny glimmer. Through the transom the stronger light in the passage was seen. It was but a slight effort for the muscular Trent to draw himself up so that he could peer through the transom at the man tapping softly at the door.
Unquestionably it was Williams, and the hand concealed in his right hand coat pocket was no doubt gripping the butt of an automatic. He was a man of great physical strength, that Trent had noted earlier in the evening. Although of enormous strength himself, and a boxer and wrestler, he knew he would stand no chance if these two discovered his errand. There was no other exit than the door.
Anthony Trent stepped silently to O’Sheill’s side.
“It’s the Hunchback,” he whispered. “If once he gets those long fingers around your throat you’re gone. Listen to me. I’m going to turn the gas out. Then I shall open the door. When he rushes in get him. If he gets you instead I’ll be on the top of him and we’ll tie him up. Ready?”