"Who the devil are you?"
Garth held out some money. The claw-like hand extended itself, closing over the coins. In quick succession the man rang three of the pieces on the pavement. Garth's watchfulness increased. Such routine suggested a signal, but the fellow picked up his money, grinning.
"Seems good," he said in his difficult voice. "If you want to know that bad, maybe an hour; maybe more. Napping. Nothing better to do, but I'm honest, and I'd work if I got the chance."
"An automobile drove up here," Garth said rapidly.
"Why so it did. I seen it with these very peepers—not a quarter of an hour back."
"How many got out of it? What did they do?"
"I seen two men and a woman," the other answered. "They lifted that cellar door and went down. Now I wondered why they did that."
"Did the woman make a fight?"
The other shook his head.
"Went like it was a candy store."
Cutting across his throaty accents, a feminine cry shrilled. The heavy doors could not muffle its terror. It seemed like a response to the ringing of the coins. Suddenly it was hushed. Garth shoved the man to one side, urged by a temper that no longer permitted calculation. At any risk he must get to Nora and to those who were responsible for that unrestrained appeal.
Beyond the doors of the saloon he faced the
