"You're not going to kill me or anybody else, my friend!" he said perhaps a trifle hysterically. "All I need to do is to call the guards!"
"Humph!" the killer growled. "I fixed every bull on the place; knocked every one of them cold. They're a bunch of lazy flat-feet!"
"Good Lord, man!" gasped Mortenson, sobering. "Don't tell me you killed all those detectives!"
"No, I didn't kill 'em!" the other barked. "But it'll be a month before they get over their headaches! Now listen to me, Mortenson. You're a damned smart man ..." he lowered his voice, "and I hate to kill smart men...."
"You don't say!" Mortenson cut in sarcastically.
"Shut your mouth!" the bandit snarled, shoving forth his gun in a significant gesture. "I'll do the talking! You listen until I ask you to speak!"
The scientist, resolved that if he was destined to die, he would do so like a man and he realized suddenly that if ever a man faced death, he was facing it now. But somehow, after his first scare, he was not frightened and in a few moments Steckel would arrive with his squad. If he could stall the bandit along until then, well....
The killer's voice diverted his thoughts.
"As I was saying," he said softly, "you're a smart man and I understand you're not very well fixed financially. Now just supposing I'd settle a million on your bank account ... just supposing I would. Would that make any difference in your life?"
"Just what do you mean, young man?" Mortenson arched his brows.