From a spot midway between the ends of the room, and above the safe, a picture had been pushed aside so that it hung askew. There was a seven-inch hole behind this, and from the circular cavity a heavy automatic protruded.
Wyman repeated his command. “All right, Slug.”
The man moved toward Harper, who stood motionless, his hands at his side. Slug feinted with his left, shot a vicious right to Harper's chin. The detective slipped the punch, pivoted as Slug lurched off balance, and shot his own left behind the man's ear. Slug stumbled under the blow, spun about with a curse on his lips. Wyman's voice stopped him.
“Never mind that stuff, stupid!” he said. “There's time for that later.” His laugh was a grunt. “At that I think he might take you.” Wyman got up from the desk. “Get his gun.”
Slug obeyed and Wyman took it. He said, “Now clear out of here. Stay outside the door; I want to talk to this dick alone.” He swung his gun on Harper, glanced at the man behind the circular hole in the wall and said, “All right, Leo. Go back downstairs.”
Slug's little eyes took on a hurt expression. “Don't I get a chance to work out on this baby?”
Wyman snapped, “Blow!” And to Harper, “Sit down!”
Harper dropped into a chair. He stretched his legs, and hooked his thumbs in his upper vest pockets.
Wyman said, “You were out with Captain Galpin last night. I was going to call on you, Harper; but this makes it better.” When Harper responded to this by nothing more than a slight raising of his dark eyebrows, Wyman continued. “I want you to call Galpin. I want you to tell him you're on your way to catch a train for Montreal, that you've got a new lead on Dunlap.”
Wyman leaned well over on the desk, so that his gun and his eyes were scarcely two feet from the detective's head. “Then I want you to wire your partner. Tell him you got a new lead and are taking the
Harper sat up in his chair and his dark eyes stared into Wyman's blue ones with a careless, bland expression. “Then what?” he said quietly.
“Then we'll arrange a little trip for you.”
“That's swell.” Harper smiled with his lips only, and slipped his metal pencil from his vest pocket. “Got a sheet of paper?”
Wyman blinked at the sudden acquiescence. Then an expression of crafty guile suffused his handsome face. Without taking his eyes from Harper he reached down to a side drawer, took out a sheet of paper and slid it in front of him.
Harper pulled the paper toward himself. He turned the pencil idly in his hands and asked, “What am I supposed to say?”
“Say—”
The one word was all Wyman spoke. His mouth was open when Harper flicked the clip on the pencil with his thumb. There was a faint click, then a louder click as the .38-caliber gas shell exploded in Wyman's face. The man coughed, dropped his gun, and clawed at his eyes and nose.
Harper leaped from the chair as the white cloud of smoke-like tear gas enveloped Wyman's head. With catlike quickness he snatched up his gun, slipped the now empty pencil into his pocket, and sprang toward the door.
He jerked it open. Slug, who must have been half-leaning against the steel panel, stumbled inward. Harper, the gun held flat in his hand, slapped it against the side of the man's head. Slug kept right on falling. He hit the floor and was trying to get up when Harper turned toward the other two men who had been standing near the door.
He jammed the gun into the stomach of the nearest man, said, “Back up, Jack!”
The fellow drew back. Harper withdrew the gun, reached out with his left hand, grabbed the shoulder of the other man. He spun him about like a top and stuck the gun in his back.
“Let's go!” he said softly. “Tell your pal to lead the way. And if anyone should make a pass at me, guess what's gonna happen to you.”
The procession of three moved quickly along the balcony, down the stairs and across the lower floor.
CHAPTER IV. NINE OR TEN?
“I'VE been doing some newspaper reading this afternoon.” Harper sat in Captain Galpin's office at nine o'clock that evening. A cigarette hung from one corner of his mouth. “Back numbers.” He looked up at Galpin and smiled. “There's about thirty thousand in reward for our missing rich men. Could you use half of that?”
Galpin waited until he had lighted a fresh cigar before answering. Then he said, “I could if it's on the level, and it comes my way.”
“You haven't identified the man we found last night?”
“No. We got in touch with New York, Chicago, Cleveland. It'll be another day before we get anything definite.”
Harper nodded, flicked the ash from his cigarette. “I found one of the birds that came here with Dunlap.”
Galpin jerked upright in his chair. “Where?”
“I went calling on Louis Wyman. It was one of his men.”
Galpin's jaw went slack. His eyes widened. “You mean—”
Harper smiled and nodded. “I've had a funny hunch ever since I started digging on this thing. And the
