“Tck!” It was the quill toothpick flexing against one of Larmon's teeth.
“I did not understand,” said Larmon in a low, grim way. “If I had, I am not sure I should have stopped you from throttling him when I did.”
John Bruce nodded curtly. He spoke again to Crang.
“I am not asking you whether you agree to this or not,” he said with level emphasis. “You have your choice at any moment to do as you like--you know the consequences.” He slipped his hand with his revolver into the right-hand side pocket of his coat, and took his place at Crang's left side. “Now, go ahead and open that door, and lead the way out! Mr. Larmon, you follow close behind me.”
“Yes,” Crang stammered, “yes--for God's sake--I--I'll do it--I---”
“Open that door!” said John Bruce monotonously. “I didn't ask you to talk about it!”
Crang opened the door. The little procession stepped out into the long, low cellar, and started down toward the lower end. The three men, from playing dice at the table near the door, rose uncertainly to their feet. John Bruce's revolver in his pocket pressed suggestively against Crang's side.
“It's all right, boys,” Crang called out. “Open the door. I've got Birdie outside.”
They passed the table, passed through the doorway, and the door closed behind them. In the semi-darkness here, as they headed for the exit to the lane, Larmon touched John Bruce's elbow.
“He brought me down here in a taxi,” Larmon whispered. “I suppose now it was one of his men who drove it.”
“Birdie, he just told those rats,” said John Bruce tersely. “Do you hear, Crang? If he's still out there, send him away!”
They emerged into the lane. A taxi-cab stood opposite the exit; Birdie lounged in the driver's seat.
John Bruce's revolver bored into Crang's side.
“Beat it!” said Crang surlily to the man. “I won't want you any more.”
“You won't--what?” Birdie leaned out from his seat. He stared for a moment in bewilderment, and then started to climb out of the taxi.
The pressure of John Bruce's revolver increased steadily.
“Damn it, you fool!” Crang screamed out wildly. “Beat it! Do you hear? Beat it!”
“Oh--sure!” he muttered, with a disgruntled oath. He shot the gears into place with a vicious snap. “Sure--anything _you_ say!” The taxi roared down the lane, and disappeared around the corner in a volley of exhausts.