“Down there! The back way!” Louise was screaming.
The other three men rushed down the hall, toward the back stairs. Lockwood alone had the inspiration to plunge back down the front stairs again. As he darted out the door he saw Hanna running forward from the rear entrance, carrying a large leather club bag.
Lockwood fired twice, hurriedly, excitedly, missing him clean. Then the pursuers poured out from the rear door also with a yell and a burst of shooting. Hanna stumbled, recovered himself, and made a limping rush for the car that still stood throbbing with the running engine.
Lockwood ran out to cut him off, shooting again in vain. Hanna dived into the front seat, and, as the car started Lockwood sprang on the running board, and leaned over with the pistol not a foot from his enemy’s head.
He caught the queer, sidelong, startled look that Hanna turned on him as he pulled the trigger. There was no explosion. He pulled again—again, with only a series of soft clicks. The gun was empty; and it flashed upon him that it was a borrowed one, and he had no cartridges.
The car was speeding down toward the gate. Lockwood clutched the top supports and hung on, holding the useless pistol. Hanna never glanced aside. He went out the gate at high speed, turned to the right, and dashed down the road.
Lockwood had a glimpse over his shoulder of his companions running across the yard to the road. The light car was just coming up. They were stopping it, getting aboard, but he could spare no more attention.
He could not attack, but he would not let go. He had to cling with both arms to avoid being pitched headlong. There was deep sand on the road, and Hanna tore through it like a madman. The big car reeled and skidded. Hanna never once glanced aside, bending low over the wheel, and they clung there within a yard of one another, as if unconscious of each other’s presence.
He might have clubbed the man with the gun butt, but he was afraid to touch him; it would turn the car over. He made an effort to get into the rear seat; but the catch stuck, and the curtains were down.
He thought dizzily of getting his hands on Hanna, of throttling him from behind. A violent lurch of the car nearly flung him off. For a minute he clung trailing by his hands, till he could get footing on the running board again.