"There's some one here!" cried the voice above us. "Halt, or I'll
shoot! Peterson! Conn! Come quick!"
There was no more need for silence, and Corson and I reached the
landing just as a door opened that let the light stream from within.
Two men had sprung to the doorway, and another could be seen faintly
outlined in the dark hall.
"Holy Mother! it's the cops!" came in an awe-stricken voice at the
sight of Corson's star.
"Right, my hearty!" cried Corson, making a rush for the man, who darted
down the hall in an effort to escape. The two men jumped back into the
room and tried to close the door, but I was upon them before they could
swing it shut. Four of my men had followed me close, and with a few
blows given and taken, the two were prisoners.
"Tie them fast," I ordered, and hastened to see how Corson fared.
I met the worthy policeman in the hall, blown but exultant. Owens was
following him, and between them they half-dragged, half-carried the man
who had given the alarm.
"He made a fight for it," puffed Corson, "but I got in wan good lick at
him and he wilted. You'll surrinder next time when I tell ye, won't ye,
me buck?"
"Aren't there any more about?" I asked. "There were more than three
left in the gang."
"If there had been more of us, you'd never have got in," growled one of
the prisoners.
"Where's Barkhouse?" I asked.
"Find him!" was the defiant reply.
We began the search, opening one room after another.
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