"It's shut all right," said Larry. "But if there's a way in, there's a way out. Anyway, Doc, we're right in the pew we've been heading for—so why worry?" He grinned at me cheerfully. The man on the floor groaned, and he dropped to his knees beside him.
"Marakinoff!" he cried.
At my exclamation he moved aside, turning the face so I could see it. It was clearly Russian, and just as clearly its possessor was one of unusual force and intellect.
The strong, massive brow with orbital ridge unusually developed, the dominant, high-bridged nose, the straight lips with their more than suggestion of latent cruelty, and the strong lines of the jaw beneath a black, pointed beard all gave evidence that here was a personality beyond the ordinary.
"Couldn't be anybody else," said Larry, breaking in on my thoughts. "He must have been watching us over there from Chau-ta-leur's vault all the time."
Swiftly he ran practised hands over his body; then stood erect, holding out to me two wicked-looking magazine pistols and a knife. "He got one of my bullets through his right forearm, too," he said. "Just a flesh wound, but it made him drop his rifle. Some arsenal, our little Russian scientist, what?"
I opened my medical kit. The wound was a slight one, and Larry stood looking on as I bandaged it.
"Got another one of those condensers?" he asked, suddenly. "And do you suppose Olaf will know enough to use it?"
"Larry," I answered, "Olaf's not outside! He's in here somewhere!"
His jaw dropped.