Australian Ike, who had entered the room with him, pulled him back.
"Ferget it!" he flung out. "Clarie's dealin' the deck, Ferget it!"
The Mope glared from one to the other; then shook his fist at Stangeist on the floor.
"Youse two make me sick!" he sneered. "Wot's the use of waitin' all night? We was to bump him off, anyway, wasn't we? Dat's wot youse said yerselves. 'cause wot was ter stop him writin' out another paper if we didn't fix him fer keeps?"
"That's all right," rejoined Clarie Deane; "but that's the second act, you bonehead, see! We ain't got the paper yet, have we? Say, take a look at that safe! It's easier ter scare him inter openin' it than ter crack it, ain't it?"
Jimmie Dale, from his crouched position, began to rise to his feet slowly, making but the slightest movement at a time, cautious of the least sound. His lips were like a thin line, his fingers tightly pressed over the automatic in his hand. There was not room for him between the portières, and the window; and, do what he could, the hangings bulged a little. Let one of the three notice that, or inadvertently brush against the portières, and his life would not be worth an instant's purchase.
They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair. Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the three faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came, and his face, that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish pallor.
"You—the three of you!" he mumbled. "What's this mean?"
And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
"Wot d'ye think it means? We want that paper, an' we want it damn quick—see! D'ye think we was goin' ter stand fer havin' a trip ter Sing Sing an' the wire chair danglin' over our heads!"
Stangeist closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something of the old-time craftiness was in his face.
