“Well?”
French allowed his eyes to roam over the room, but without making any change in his expression. After the briefest pause he went on:
“Now to get away from me is the difficulty, for while I should be willing to give you my oath not to interfere, I don’t suppose you would accept it. Well, this is my plan.”
Calling all his histrionic powers to his aid, French again glanced round the room, suddenly staying his gaze on the door. Then with the whole strength of his will he pretended to himself that he saw Carter entering. On this he fixed his mind, with the result that his eyes took on the appearance of definitely looking at something, while an expression of the utmost thankfulness and relief showed on his features. But he was quick to add the idea that Pyke must not follow what was in his mind, and he at once looked away and back to Pyke’s face. With a fine effect of recovering a line of thought which had been disturbed, he continued, now trying to give the impression of faked fear.
“I propose that I withdraw to the kitchenette and there gag myself and tie myself up to your satisfaction. You, of course, would keep me covered all the time and it would be quite impossible for me to play you any trick. Or, if you preferred it, I could do the tying up in this room.”
Again he glanced at the door as if he could not keep his eyes off it. This time he slowly shifted the point at which he was looking to just behind Pyke, while he allowed relief and satisfaction to grow on his face. Once more he hurriedly withdrew his gaze and looked at Pyke.
“I noticed a clothes line in the kitchenette which would do,” he went on, but now absent-mindedly, and giving quick, as if involuntary, glances behind Pyke. “If you agree, I’ll back in there and get it down. If I attempt to play you false you can shoot.”
He paused, and looking directly behind Pyke, allowed a slight triumphant smile to appear on his lips.
Pyke had obviously followed the direction of his glances and he had been getting more and more uneasy. At French’s smile he could stand it no longer. For the tenth of a second he glanced behind him. And at that moment, French, standing braced and ready, sprang. Like lightning he dropped his head while his left fist struck the other’s right wrist upwards.
Instantly Pyke fired and a hot iron seemed to sear the crown of French’s head. But he was not disabled. Seizing Pyke’s right wrist with his left hand, he drove with his right for the man’s chin.