"No, you haven't!" hissed Shepard, a fighting animal to the last. He had whipped out a magazine gun from his coat pocket, and began firing point-blank. Burke threw his stick at the man, but it went wild.
His own revolver was out now, and he sent a bullet into the fellow's shoulder.
Shepard's left arm dropped limply. He dashed toward the door and forced his way past, firing wildly at such close range that it almost burst the gallant policeman's ear drums.
Up the ladder he scurried like a wild animal, firing as he climbed.
Burke was right behind him.
Shepard ran for the fire-escape. Burke was after him. Each man was wasting bullets. But as Shepard reached the edge of the roof Burke took the most deliberate aim of his life, and sent a bullet into the villain's breast.
Shepard gasped, his hands went up, and he toppled over the cornice to the back yard below.
He died as he had lived, with a curse on his lip, murder in his heart, and battling like a beast!