As she pulled aside the hall portieres, three men with guns thrust their hands out. I turned. Two others had stepped from the back room and two more from the bay window. We were surrounded. Seven guns were aimed at us with deadly precision.
"No—no—Walter—it's no use," shouted Kennedy calmly restraining my hand which I had clapped on my own gun.
At the same time, with his other hand, he took from his pocket the small can which I had seen him place there, and held it aloft.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly. "I suspected some such thing. I have here a small box of fulminate of mercury. If I drop it, this building and the entire vicinity will be blown to atoms. Go ahead—shoot!" he added, nonchalantly.
The seven of them drew back, rather hurriedly.
Kennedy was a dangerous prisoner.
He calmly sat down in an arm chair, leaning back as he carefully balanced the deadly little box of fulminate of mercury on his knee. He placed his finger tips together and smiled at the seven crooks, who had gathered together, staring breathlessly at this man who toyed with death.
Gertie ran from the room.
For a moment they looked at each other, undecided, then one by one, they stepped away from Kennedy toward the door.
The leader was the last to go. He had scarcely taken a step.