J. Archibald McKackney
old McKackney's feet and let him yell. The flunkies is all doped or sand-bagged. The rubies is in this room, we had the tip straight."
To the horror of the helpless sailor and to my own unutterable anguish, I was plucked from my chair and borne toward the fireplace in which smoldered a huge back-log. My struggles were so frantic and my cries so piercing that two of the rascals were wholly absorbed in this hideous task. The third was busily kicking to pieces the one surviving cabinet and Mr. Hank Wilkins was unnoticed for the moment.
With a mighty, grunting heave of his big chest, and with every splendid muscle swelled and taut, he strained against his bonds in a supreme effort. Nothing weaker than a wire cable could have withstood it. The curtain cords snapped and the sailor was on his feet with a bound like an angry cat. Before the nearest burglar could turn, Mr. Wilkins had hurled a mahogany chair at him. It sped like a twelve-inch shell, dashed his victim against
