CHAPTER XX.THE BLACKMAILER’S SUPREME HAUL.
For a moment that seemed an eternity, Ernest Gordon crouched as if petrified, his eyes turned wildly to the door.
Had he locked it?
Of course he had, but he could not be sure of it at that moment, and, even if it were locked, what beastly mischance had brought an interruption just then?
Supposing it were Carter himself, or one of his assistants?
The rascal’s clammy hands were cold, and his knees threatened to collapse under him.
Gritting his teeth, however, and with a look of contempt for his own weakness, he pushed the inner door back, swung the other one around until it was only slightly ajar, and, after a hasty glance about to make sure that all else was in order, strode to the door.
“What is it?” he called harshly.
Even at the moment o
