* * * *
Silence followed. Evans could hear the crimson flood from his gashed shoulder dripping off the telegraph table to the floor. Also he could hear men breathing. Their respiration was rapid from exertion and excitement.
“What do we do now, Glick?” asked one of their captors.
“You damned fool!” shrilled another. “Why’d you go an’ give my name away? Now we gotta croak ’em. We gotta hand ’em the same dose we gave Tully and Hoot Smith!”
“Shut up!” growled the other man. “Let’s look in this envelope!”
Strangely enough—the pair still spoke in their hoarse, disguised voices, although the name of Glick had been voiced plainly.
Paper rattled.
The girl’s tones, low and squeakily mouselike, came to Evans.
“Isn’t Glick your superintendent?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
“No
