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ptain Folsom. "They are out on the roof already, and shooting and calling to attract help. Come. We have no time to lose." Fumbling his way along the dark hall toward the stair door, he said: "Quick, Hampton, with your light. I can't find the knob. Ah"--as the light of the little torch winked on--"that's better." He pulled the door open, and started down the stairs, Jack at his shoulder and flashing the light ahead. The others crowded at their heels. CHAPTER XIV THROUGH THE TUNNEL At the foot of the stairway was another door, and this stood open. It gave upon another hallway, carpeted richly, and dim, yet not so dark but what Captain Folsom could see his way. This faint illumination came up a great open stairway from a wide and deep living room below into which descended another stairway at the far end of the hall. A male voice, not unmusical, singing a rousing chorus in Italian, and peering circumspectly through an open balustrade into that lower room, Captain Folsom saw the singer seated at a great square piano, a giant of a man with a huge shock of dark brown hair and ferocious mustaches, while a coal black negro, even huger in size, lolled negligently at one end of the keyboard, his red lips parted wide in a grin of enjoyment and ivory white teeth showing between, and at the other end of the piano, with his elbows planted on the instrument and his head pressed between his hands, stood or rather leaned a rough-looking man of medium height, his grizzled hair all awry where he had run his fingers through it, and wearing a khaki shirt open at the throat. "Sing that again, Pete. What d'ye call it? The Bull Fighter Song, hey? Well, I don't know much about music, but that gits under my skin. Come on." The man called Pete was about to comply, and the Negro was nodding his head in violent approval, when the door from the outside gallery was burst open unceremoniously, and a villainous looking individual whirled into the room in a state of great excitement. Others were behind him but, evidently not daring to venture within, stood grouped in the open doorway. "Here, Mike, wot d'ye mean, comin' in like this? Into a gentleman's house, too. Don't ye know any better, ye scut?" demanded the first speaker, he who had asked for a repetition of the song. Evidently, thought Captain Folsom, here was the leader, for the other deferred to him, although it was apparent he was a privileged character. "Ah
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