"Hey, what's going on? How'd the chick get in?"
Langerman had come back, his shirt faintly spattered with rain drops. He had gotten as far as the front door, Stan thought, discovered the state of the weather, and come back for a rain coat.
Nothing was going right....
It was too late for explanations. Langerman's hand had snaked beneath his suit coat and come out with a small pistol.
"Tanner would like to hear about this," he said, his eyes narrow.
He should have thought of that long ago, Stan thought coldly. Tanner hadn't trusted him, never had. Tanner had watched him. And when Tanner wasn't around to do the watching, he had made sure that somebody else was.
He didn't argue. He straightened out and dove for Langerman's legs. There was a sharp report and a splintering sound behind him and then Langerman was down, frantically trying to hit Stan in the face with the pistol butt.
Stan rolled him violently against the wall and grabbed for the hand that held the pistol. He caught it and tried to force it back. The two arms wavered, then Langerman began to give a little, his arm moving slowly back.
A world was in the balance, Stan thought grimly, and with a surge of strength he had the pistol. He slashed at Langerman's head and the little man went limp.
He stood up and thrust the list into Avis' hand. "There it is—all fifty. I've marked the ones I'll try to work myself."