CHAPTER XX
The Last Rung of a Broken Ladder
For a couple of strides he advanced towards them, deceived for an instant by the jacket of the dead German which Dennis was wearing. Then he sprang back with a startled cry, his light vanished, and the clang of the heavy door echoed dully in the pitch darkness.
Bob Dashwood's hand gave his brother's shoulder a warning grip, and the pair listened, scarcely breathing. In both their minds was the one thought: Had their enemy gained the outer room before the door closed, or was he still there, waiting for the first sound that should betray their whereabouts?
Dennis, who had been standing erect when the torch beam found him, now crouched low; but Bob stood motionless, his head turned sideways to listen, the half-smoked cigarette still in his mouth.
The silence of the room seemed to be intensified by the gunfire outside; and, without thinking, Bob Dashwood pulled at the cigarette.
The tiny end shone faintly, with a brighter glow, a loud report broke the unnatural stillness, and the bullet of an automatic pistol carried the cigarette from the smoker's lips and struck the wall behind him!