"I won't!" Stangeist flashed out violently.
That's all right," repeated Clarie Deane. "There's half of that minute gone."
Jimmie Dale's eyes, in a fascinated sort of way, were on Stangeist. The man's face was twitching now, moisture began to ooze from his forehead, as the callous brutality of the scowling faces seemed to get him—and then he lurched suddenly forward in his chair.
"My God!" he cried out, a ring of terror in his voice. "What do you mean to do? You'll pay for it! They'll get you! The servants will be back in a minute."
"Two skirts!" jeered Clarie Deane, "We ain't goin' ter run away from them. If they comes before we goes, we'll fix 'em. That minute's up!"
Stangeist licked his lips with his tongue.
"Suppose—suppose I refuse?" he said hoarsely.
"You can suit yerself," said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin. "We know the paper's there, an' we gets it before we leaves here—see? You can take yer. choice. Either you goes over ter the safe an' opens it yerself, or else"—he paused and produced a small bottle from his pocket—"this is nitro-glycerin', an' we opens it fer you with this. Only if we does the job we does it proper. We ties you up and sets you against the door of the safe before we touches off the 'soup,' an' mabbe if yer a good guesser you can guess the rest."
There was a short, raucous guffaw from The Mope.
Stangeist turned a drawn face toward the man, stared at him, and stared in a miserable way at the other two in turn. He licked his lips again—none was in a better position than himself to know that there would be neither scruples nor hesitancy to interfere with carrying out the threat.
"Suppose," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "suppose I open the safe—what then—afterward?"
"We ain't got the safe open yet," countered Clarie Deane uncompromisingly. "An' we ain't got no more time ter fool over it, either. You get a move on before I counts five, or The Mope an' Ike ties you up! One"
