uld employ the
respite that was offered.

Britt began to babble; there was a suggestion of partial mania in his
tones. Vaniman could not understand what he was saying, but the sharp
questions that were interjected by the manager of the affair--the
queries that gimleted for additional information--suggested the line of
confession that Britt was giving forth.

"Yes--in the bank! Where in the bank? . . . I heard that, but where?
. . . In the basement, hey? Well, where in the basement? . . . Concrete
block hey? . . . Come across! . . . Along here with that lamp, bo! . . .
Exactly where is that block?"

Through Vaniman there flooded something that was almost a delirium of
derring do. He did not know just what he would be able to perform--one
against three. He did not dare to wait for any farther developments in
the thing. He was possessed by the frantic fear that the knaves would
use their information and beat him to the treasure. That the money was
somewhere in the basement of Britt Block was enough for him at that
juncture. He decided that the time for stealth was past. He would
proclaim the news. He would tell his story. He would trust the case to
the fair judgment of men.

He scrambled forward in the van and made a hasty survey of the
situation. Britt was stretched on the ground. The two convicts were
kneeling side by side, bending over their captive, and the short man was
still plying Britt with questions. Their backs were toward the man in
the van. Wagg was kneeling at Britt's feet, holding the carriage lamp,
shielding the flare with a curved palm.

The posture of all three of them invited the attack that Vaniman
instantly decided on. He could not hope that he would be offered a
better opportunity.

He flung aside the flap, he leaped from the opening. Spreading his
knees, he landed on the convicts, a knee on each back, and then he
brought his hands toward each other with all his strength, cuffing their
skulls together with a resounding crack. They fell across Britt.
Vaniman was on his feet while Wagg was rising; the guard's slow mind
was operating ineptly on his muscles. The young man felled Wagg with a
vicious blow under the ear.

The convicts, knocked senseless, were on their faces, pinning Britt to
the ground. The butts of the bulldog revolvers in their hip pockets were
exposed. Vaniman snatched out the weapons. He aimed one of the revolvers
at Wagg, who had struggled to his knees. "Your knife! Throw it to