He paused in some satisfaction at the consternation he had created in the face of Monsieur Khodkine, who was struggling hard to regain his composure.
"My dossier, Monsieur!" he stammered, still staring incredulously. "You are mad."
"Not so mad as I seem--nor so guileless--nor so even-tempered, Monsieur Khodkine. I ought to kill you now as you stand and free Nemi of a spy and Russia of a traitor. But I won't. But I'll draw your sting."
And then with a gesture, "March toward the door. Hands up!"
"What are you going to do?"
"Wake Shestov and Barthou--Ah! would you----!"
Rowland fired as Khodkine leaped back, crashing the light to the floor, and turned toward where he had been, firing again at random, cursing himself for his stupidity. The rifle was awkward in the confined space and as he ran in the direction of the door of the vault to head the man off, his foot struck something on the floor and he stumbled against the shelves. When in desperation he found his way to the door of the vault, it clanged shut with a heavy crash, and he heard the tumblers falling into place.
He was locked in, and Khodkine--Khodkine had escaped!
The nature of this disaster did not for a moment occur to him. He hammered on the unresponsive steel for an unreasoning moment, and then stopped to upbraid himself.
"Silly fool," he muttered. "What did you go and do that for? You might have known. You can't shoot, either. H---- of a soldier you are!"