“If the pencil’s down there, we’ve got him,” he said quietly. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been after that thug for years.”
“You haven’t got him yet,” O’Brien reminded him. “Don’t be too hopeful.”
“Sergeant…!”
The sharp note in Mallory’s voice made both men straighten up.
“There’s someone outside.”
Mallory was standing in the doorway of the changing room, silhouetted against the light. Even as he spoke there came a crash of gunfire and he staggered back, holding his arm.
With a muttered oath O’Brien jumped forward and flicked up the light switch, plunging the changing room into darkness.
“You hurt?” he asked, pulling Mallory away from the door.
“Got it in the arm,” Mallory said, and sat down abruptly on the floor.
Conrad had gone over to the door, and keeping well back, he peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see any tiling.