“Of course, I know it would be easy enough for you to shoot a man in the back,” said Jack. “That’s about your size.”
The Russian was becoming furiously angry. His face turned a deep red.
“You shall see,” he said again.
“Well, why don’t you shoot?” demanded Jack.
In his heart he had no doubt that the Russian would shoot. But the lad believed that if he could get the man angry enough, he could throw him off his guard for a second. Once the revolver wavered, Jack had decided to spring upon the count, come what might.
Now the count moved back another step. He raised his revolver carefully. Jack’s heart sank, for there was no sign of nervousness in the man’s manner. The lad was about to hurl himself forward anyhow, when there came an interruption from an unexpected source.
The door to the room suddenly burst in. Jack gave a cry of glad surprise as he saw Frank’s face framed in the doorway. As his chum dashed through the door, Jack fell suddenly to the floor; and it was well that he did so, for a second later Count Blowinski’s finger pressed the trigger of his revolver.
The bullet whizzed through the air right where Jack’s head had been a moment before.
But the count had no time to fire again, for Frank and the Russian were upon him. Neither was armed and they dashed in close before the count could aim and fire.
Frank seized the count’s revolver arm and thrust it upward. The Russian dashed in and grasped the hand that extended high in the air with the revolver. A first twist failed to dispossess the count of his weapon, but a second sharp twist had a better result. The revolver went hurling through the air, crashed through a window pane and fell to the street.