He had drawn his heavy gun. May stood as if the sight of the weapon had frozen her. Jackeen brought it down on her temple. The Doc never moved. Peace—the peace of the poppy—was on his brow and in his heart. May fell to the floor, her face a-reek with blood.
“Now you've got yours!” said Jackeen.
May struggled unsteadily to her feet, and began groping for the door.
“That ought to do youse till I get back,” was Jackeen's good-by. “You'll need a few stitches for that.”
Unruffled, untroubled, the Doc drew blandly at the mouthpiece of the pipe.
Jackeen surveyed him.
“Go on!” cried Rice; “hand it to him, if you're goin' to!”
Rice was becoming fretted. He hadn't Jackeen's sustaining interest. Besides, he was thinking of that word from the Central Office, and how much safer he would be with Beansey, on the Hoboken side of the Hudson.
Jackeen took a step nearer. The Doc smiled, eyes just showing through the dreamy lids.
“Turn it loose!” cried Rice.