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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"Guy Garrick"


"Where have they gone?" I panted, as the door opened at last, and
we found only one man in the place.
There he stood apparently ready to be arrested, in fact courting
it if we could show the proper authority, since he knew that it
would be only a question of hours when he would be out again and
the game would be resumed, in full blast.
The man shook his head blankly in answer to my question.
"There must be a trap door somewhere," cried Garrick. "It is no
use to find it. They are all on the street by this time. Quick--
before anyone catches us in the rear."
We had been not a moment too soon in gaining the street. Though we
had done nothing but attempt to get into the stuss room,
ostensibly as players, the crowd in the cafe was pressing forward.
On the street, we saw men filing quickly from a cellar, a few
doors down the block. We mingled with the excited crowd in order
to cover ourselves.
"That must have been where the trap door and passage led,"
whispered Garrick.


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