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.

Next he went through the pockets of the unconscious man who was only
now beginning to stir slightly, as life returned after that stunning
blow.

It was beginning to come to Ronicky that there was a strange relation
between the men of this house. Here were three who apparently started
out to work at night, and yet they were certainly not at all the type
of night clerks or night-shift engineers or mechanics. He turned over
the hand of the man he had struck down. The palm was as soft as his
own.

No, certainly not a laborer. But they were all employed by "the old
man." Who was he? And was there some relation between all of these and
the man who sneered?

At least Ronicky determined to learn all that could be read in
the pockets of his victim. There was only one thing. That was a
stub-nosed, heavy automatic.

It was enough to make Ronicky Doone sigh with relief. At least he had
not struck some peaceful, law-abiding fellow. Any man might carry a
gun--Ronicky himself would have been uncomfortable without some sort
of weapon about him but there are guns and guns. This big, ugly
automatic seemed specially designed to kill swiftly and surely.