Ronicky started for the head of the stairs to make his retreat, but, just as he reached there, the party turned into the hall and confronted him.

Chapter Ten

Mistaken Identity

To flee down the stairs now would be rank folly.  If there happened to be among these fellows a man of the type of him who sneered, a bullet would catch the fugitive long before he reached the bottom of the staircase.  And, since he could not retreat, Ronicky went slowly and steadily ahead, for, certainly, if he stood still, he would be spoken to.  He would have to rely now on the very dim light in this hall and the shadow of his cap obscuring his face.  If these were roomers, perhaps he would be taken for some newcomer.

But he was hailed at once, and a hand was laid on his shoulder.

“Hello, Pete.  What’s the dope?”

Ronicky shrugged the hand away and went on.

“Won’t talk, curse him.  That’s because the plant went fluey.”

“Maybe not; Pete don’t talk much, except to the old man.”

“Lemme get at him,” said a third voice.  “Beat it down to Rooney’s.  I’m going up with Pete and get what he knows.”

And, as Ronicky turned onto the next flight of the stairway, he was overtaken by hurrying feet.  The other two had already scurried down toward the front door of the house.

“I got some stuff in my room, Pete,” said the friendly fellow who had overtaken him.  “Come up and have a jolt, and we can have a talk.  ‘Lefty’ and Monahan think you went flop on the job, but I know better, eh?  The old man always picks you for these singles; he never gives me a shot at ’em.”  Then he added:  “Here we are!” And, opening a door in the first hall, he stepped to the center of the room and fumbled at a chain that broke loose and tinkled against glass; eventually he snapped on an electric light.  Ronicky Doone saw a powerfully built, bull-necked man, with a soft hat pulled far down on his head.  Then the man turned.

It was much against the grain for Ronicky Doone to attack a man by surprise, but necessity is a stern ruler.  And the necessity which made him strike made him hit with the speed of a snapping whiplash and the weight of a sledge hammer.  Before the other was fully turned that iron-hard set of knuckles crashed against the base of his jaw.

He fell without a murmur, without a struggle, Ronicky catching him in his arms to break the weight of the fall.  It was a complete knock-out.  The dull eyes, which looked up from the floor, saw nothing.  The square, rather brutal, face was relaxed as if in sleep, but here was the type of man who would recuperate with great speed.

Ronicky set about the obvious task which lay before him, as fast as he could.  In the man’s coat pocket he found a handkerchief which, hard knotted, would serve as a gag.  The window curtain was drawn with a stout, thick cord.  Ronicky slashed off a convenient length of it and secured the hands and feet of his victim, before he turned the fellow on his face.