“Murder!” Sorenson grated. “Did you look straight into this fellow Weir’s eyes? Didn’t you see something there that resembled murder? He’d like only the chance to kill us one by one with his own hands: I saw that much. Just as Burkhardt said, it’s him or us. After you told me about him, I had only to take one look. If he has the goods on us––well, he’ll have to die. Make up your mind to that. We’re back to the time of thirty years ago and fighting for our lives. We were not only all in on the Weir job, but the Dent killing––all of us. Remember that. If the facts become known, we’ll be run into some other county and court and hanged. And every enemy we’ve made in these years past will put up his head and clamor for our blood. Let that sink into your mind.”
The effect of this low fierce utterance was to hammer the truth home. The Judge was ashen. Vorse’s face appeared like an evil mask. Burkhardt glowered savagely.
At that instant there sounded the faint report of a shot in the street. Then as the group sat unmoving, rigid, keyed to the highest pitch of expectancy, there followed quickly two more shots. Afterwards, silence.
“A gun-play!” issued from Vorse’s lips, softly.
They all sprang up to hasten to the door.