Tommy did not reply. He was staring over the intruder’s shoulder as though he saw a ghost.
As a matter of fact he was seeing something that caused him far more apprehension than any ghost could have done.
Up to now, he had not given a thought to Albert as a factor in the game. He had taken for granted that Albert had already been dealt with by the mysterious stranger. If he had thought of him at all, it was as one lying stunned on the carpet in the outer office.
He now saw that Albert had miraculously escaped the stranger’s attention. But instead of rushing out to fetch a policeman in good sound British fashion, Albert had elected to play a lone hand. The door behind the stranger had opened noiselessly, and Albert stood in the aperture enveloped in a coil of rope.
An agonized yelp of protest burst from Tommy, but too late. Fired with enthusiasm, Albert flung a loop of rope over the intruder’s head, and jerked him backwards off his feet.
The inevitable happened. The pistol went off with a roar and Tommy felt the bullet scorch his ear in passing, ere it buried itself in the plaster behind him.
“I’ve got him, sir,” cried Albert, flushed with triumph.
“I’ve lassoed him. I’ve been practising with a lasso in my spare time, sir. Can you give me a hand? He’s very violent.”
Tommy hastened to his faithful henchman’s assistance, mentally determining that Albert should have no