They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair.  Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the three faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came, and his face, that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish pallor.

“You—­the three of you!” he mumbled.  “What’s this mean?”

And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.

“Wot d’ye think it means?  We want that paper, an’ we want it damn quick—­see!  D’ye think we was goin’ ter stand fer havin’ a trip ter Sing Sing an’ the wire chair danglin’ over our heads!”

Stangeist closed his eyes.  When he opened them again, something of the old-time craftiness was in his face.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he inquired, almost sharply.  “You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me.”

“Don’t youse kid yerself!” retorted Clarie Deane.  “D’ye think we’re fools?  This ain’t like it was yesterday—­see!  We gets the paper this time—­so there won’t nothin’ happen to us.  You come across with it blasted quick now, or The Mope’ll give you another on the bean that’ll put you to sleep fer keeps!”

The blood was running down Stangeist’s face.  He wiped it away from his eyes.

“It’s not here,” he said innocently.  “It’s in my box in the safety-deposit vaults.”

“Aw,” blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, “youse can’t work dat crawl on—­”

“Cut it out, Ike!” snapped Clarie Dane.  “I’m runnin’ this!  So it’s in the vaults, eh?” He shoved his face toward Stangeist’s.

“Yes,” said Stangeist easily.  “You see—­I was looking for something like this.”

Clarie Deane’s fist clenched.

“You lie!” he choked.  “The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed the paper to yesterday afternoon, an’ the vaults was closed then—­an’ you ain’t been there to-day, ’cause you’ve been watched.  That’s why we fixed it fer to-night after the divvy that you’ve just tried ter do us on again, ’cause we knew you had it here.”

“I tell you, it’s not here,” said Stangeist evenly.

“You lie!” said Clarie Deane again.  “It’s in that safe.  The Mope heard you tell the girl in yer office that if anything happened to you she was ter wise up the district attorney that there was a paper in your safe at home fer him that was important.  Now then, you beat it over ter that safe, an’ open it up—­we’ll give you a minute ter do it in.”

“The paper’s not there, I tell you,” said Stangeist once more.

“That’s all right,” submitted Clarle Deane grimly.  “There’s a quarter of that minute gone.”

“I won’t!” Stangeist flashed out violently.

“That’s all right,” repeated Clarie Deane.  “There’s half of that minute gone.”

Jimmie Dale’s eyes, in a fascinated sort of way, were on Stangeist.  The man’s face was twitching now, moisture began to ooze from his forehead, as the callous brutality of the scowling faces seemed to get him—­and then he lurched suddenly forward in his chair.