"Don't ask questions of yer betters, Professor, an' you won't get hurt.
Howsomever, yer bound t' hear at The Mills all about Dan Heeley, so I
don't mind admittin' I'm little Danny."

"Heeley!" gasped Madame Marve, "the man that shot Hollander, the man
that's been sticking up the banks?"

Heeley's brow darkened.

"Precisely, missus," he said; "the man the Gov' mint offers £250 quid
for, cash on delivery." He turned again to Professor Thunder. "I noticed
you was doin' pretty good at Big Timber, mate," he said, "and I thought
I'd follow on and pick up a little loose change. Fact is, I want your
cash box, Perfessor, and any little articles of value you don't happen to
be needin' for the moment."

"I--I've got next to nothing," faltered Thunder. "Most of my takings went
in expenses."

Mat Heeley's revolver hand became rigid, his grim mouth, tightened, his
chin set itself in prognathous ugliness.

"You'll send your little girl for that cash box, Professor," he said
coldly, "and you'll tell her to gather up any bits and pieces of
jewellery and such like as would please me, and if the collection isn't a
good one I'll maybe blow an arm off you, jist as a mark of my
displeasure. As for the rest, if you ain't good I'll riddle the brain-pan
of one of yeh jist to convince the others that I mean business."