Scorio stepped back a pace.
"But I'm not going to," said Manning. "I have something better saved for you. Something more appropriate."
"You can't touch me!"
"Look," said Manning sternly. He pointed his finger at a chair. It suddenly grew cloudy, became a wisp of trailing smoke, was gone.
The gangster backed away, eyes glued to the spot where the chair had vanished.
"Look here," piped the little voice. Scorio jerked his head around and looked.
The chair was in Manning's hand. A tiny chair, but the very one that had disappeared from the room a moment before.
"Watch out!" warned Manning, and heaved the chair. The tiny chair seemed to float in the air. Then with a rush it gathered speed, grew larger. In a split second it was a full-sized chair and it was hurtling straight at the gangster's head.
With a strangled cry Scorio threw up his arms. The chair crashed into him, bowled him over.
"Now do you believe me?" demanded Manning.