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"Author of "Mystery River" and "Six Bearded Men"
"Halt!"
"Seize him!"
"Throttle his throat!"
"Bind him, hand and foot!"
"The burlap about him and to the car!"
The steel-like commands followed each other in well timed succession. The voice of the leader was purposely muffied, but each word was clear-cut, sharply and quickly spoken.
With measured step, from out the quietude of the partially illuminated, seemingly deserted street, six men had emerged. They offered not a comment, neither did they tarry; each man knew his particular part of the program, and all acted quickly and with precision.
In the twinkling of an eye, the aged Kleg Pantzar, gagged, bound and heavily wrapped in a covering that smelled of harness leather, was lifted from his feet:
The leader signaled the others to follow.
They pushed through the willowy brush, and behind the large sign-boards that hid them from the street. Across the vacant lot they went to the darkness of the alley.
"The plank, and strap him!"
The leader's words were more stern, more frigid than before.
Pantzar was stood upright, and two men held him thus, while three others placed the plank at his back. Three surcingles were slipped about him—one at his feet, one about his waist and one about the shoulders—and all were tightly drawn.
"He'll make a fine specimen of a mummy when we're done with him," jeered one in an undertone.
The leader sprang quickly forward and, touching the speaker lightly on the arm, spoke in low, cautious tones:
"This, I deem, is no place for jest. The guardians of the city's peace may soon be upon us. Leave your tormenting until we are in the distant spot, secure from the jurisdiction of courts and the eyes of men."
The leader swung quarter round and gestured toward the waiting truck.
"Slide the burlaped body in, and let it lie flat on the vehicle's metal bed.
A murmured word, and the helpless Pantzar was tipped backward, lifted, and slipped within the waiting car.
