the lock. The knob was turned, the door tried—then shaken. There was a short silence. Then, from the "boss:"
"Open the door, you fool!"
Carlson was silent.
"Tony!"
Silence.
"Tony! What the hell's the matter with you?"
Silence.
A whispered consultation outside the door. Then:
"Tony! Doctor! Open that door or, by God! I'll"
More whispering, then a short silence.
"Doctor!"
Silence.
Whispering again; then footsteps running down the stairs; then another and longer silence. Carlson put his ear as near as he could to the door. Soon he heard the footsteps returning, but they stopped at the second floor. A voice called faintly from below:
"I can't find anything but a hatchet."
Smothered cursing told that the "boss" was still on the other side of the door. Then he also seemed to run down stairs. Presently Carlson heard hammering or pounding, far below, and at last a crushing and crumbling sound, as if something heavy had given way. What were the scoundrels doing?
Then footsteps again, coming up the stairs, but more slowly this time. And as they came, there was an occasional bumping sound, as if they were carrying some bulky object which now and then struck the walls or stairs.
When they were opposite the door, something heavy hit the floor. Then, once more, the sullen voice of the "boss."
"Listen, Doc! I don't know what you've done to Tony, and what's more I don't give a damn, if you open the door now."
Silence. Carlson thought he could hear their heavy breathing. As a psychologist be knew that his own silence, and that of Tony, had a horror about it that was telling severely, even on their hardened nerves.
"This is your last chance, Doc! If you open the door now, you can go, and take your fee, and be damned. But if you won't open, I'm going to break down the door, and then—you'll leave here in a coupla suitcases. Do you get me?"
Silence! After about a quarter of a minute, the "boss" said:
"Now then! All together!"
Carlson braced himself. But suddenly the woman screamed, "Stop!"
"Shut up! You—"
"I won't. Listen!" And though she spoke lower, Carlson could hear her say something about the doctor and Tony's pistol!
"I know that," muttered the man, but we've got to risk it!"
Another voice, Carlson though that of the man who sat beside him in the auto, half whispered:
"Wait, Boss! I don't like this! What did the doc do to big Tony? I wouldn't go into that room again if you killed me! I've lost my nerve, let's chuck this job and make a getaway!"
"No, I won't! and none of you won't by God! We’ve gone too far to go back. We'll win together, or go to the Chair together! I'll shoot the first—"
"But—"
"Take that, will you, and shut up!" a blow, a fall, and a groan, as if from the level of the floor.
A few seconds of dead silence, then the voice of the "boss":
"Now, get together and smash that door!"
More shuffling of feet and the dragging of something heavy, then the muffled voice of the woman:
"Maybe he found the phone—"
"Quick! Bust in that door!"
Carlson held his breath.
18
