The wicket was shot as suddenly as it had been opened. They could hear a quick scramble in the room beyond.
"Open this door," loudly demanded the marshal, resuming his knocking.
"They won't do it," spoke up Halsey, advancing a step. "Say," lifting his ponderous fist, "I'll soon clear the way, if you say the word."
"No," responded the marshal, putting up a detaining hand. "We have no legal right to invade the premises. Whoever is in there, cannot escape. There is no other stairway leading to the street except this one."
"What are you going to do?" asked Frank.
"Why, you had better go back to the town hall with Halsey," advised the officer. "See the clerk, and let Halsey swear out a criminal warrant against Dale Wacker and others concerned in a swindling scheme at this place."
"All right," nodded Frank. "Come Mr. Halsey, let us make haste."
"I will save you any delay, gentlemen," spoke up a new voice.
All three turned, to observe a keen-faced, bright-eyed man who had come quickly up the stairs. There was a certain half-military, half-official precision to his make up that at once impressed Frank.
