Ben's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"This is the United States of America, young man. I don't recognize that I am under your orders or anyone else's. If you think you are going to get us to accept any such Mussolini dictatorship, you've got another guess coming. As I was saying—" he turned back to Vanderschoof with elaborate unconcern, and Murray took a step toward him, bristling angrily.
"Leave me alone, boys, I can handle this," said Ben, waving the other two back. "Mr. Stevens." The broker looked up with insolent politeness. "This is not the United States, but the colony of New York. Conditions have changed and the sooner you recognize that the better for all of us. We are trying to rebuild civilization from the ruins; if you don't share in the work, you shall not share in the benefits."
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"Put you out."
There was a quick flash, and Ben was staring into the business end of a Luger automatic, gripped tightly in the broker's hand. "Oh, no you won't. You forget that you made this anarchy yourself when you refused to have a president. Now get out of here, quick, and let me talk with my friend."
For a moment the air was heavy with tension. Then Vanderschoof smiled—a superior smile. Stevens' eyes blinked, and in that blink Ben charged, and as he moved, Murray and Tholfsen followed. There was a report like a clap of thunder in the narrow room, a tremendous ringing clang as the bullet struck the metal plate of Ben's shoulder and caromed to the ceiling, whirling him around against the desk and to the floor by the force of the impact. Murray leaped across his prostrate body, striking at the gun and knocking it down just in time to send the second shot wild; Tholfsen stumbled and fell across Ben.
Ben was up first, diving for Murray and Stevens, now locked in close grapple, but the chess-player's action was more effective. From his prone position he reached up, grabbed Stevens' legs and pulled them from under him, bringing him down with a crash, just as Ben's added weight made the struggle hopelessly one-sided. In a moment more the dictator of the New York colony was sitting on his subject's chest while Murray held his arms. Vanderschoof, with the instinctive terror of the man of finance for physical violence, sat cowering in his chair.
"Get—some wire," gasped Ben. "Don't think—cloth will hold him."
Tholfsen released his hold on the legs and climbed to his feet. "Watch the other one, Murray," said Ben, his quick eye detecting a movement toward the gun on Vanderschoof's part.