He went up and peered through the aperture of the doorway. Then he
rang the bell. Twice he raised his hand and clenched it in the now
familiar clutch.
A crook inside saw it through the aperture and opened the door.
The figure entered and almost before the door was shut tied the
masking handkerchief over his face, which hid his identity from
even the most trusted lieutenants. The crook bowed to the chief,
who, with a growl as though of recognition, moved down the hall.
As he came to the room from which Spike had been sent on his
mission, the same group was seated in the thick tobacco smoke.
"You fellows clear out," he growled. "I want to be alone."
"The old man is peeved," muttered one, outside, as they left.
The weird figure gazed about the room to be sure that he was
alone.
When Craig and I left the police he had given me most minute
instructions which I was now following out to the letter.
"I want you to hide there," he said, indicating a barrel back of
the house next to the hang-out. "When you see a wire come down
from the headquarters, take it and carry it across the lot to the
old house. Attach it to the bell; then wait. When it rings, raid
the Clutching Hand joint."
I waited what seemed to be an interminable time back of the barrel
and it is no joke hiding back of a barrel.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246