Before he could fire again Amberley was on to him and had caught his pistol arm and wrenched it round. Mark cried out with the sudden pain and the gun dropped to the ground.
Fountain caught his other arm and held it. Amberley released his grip and bent and picked up the gun, slipping it into his own pocket.
At that moment the billiard-room door was burst open and Anthony came out, with Joan at his heels.
"Hullo-ullo-ullo!" he said cheerfully. "Someone starting a rough house?"
"It's all right; there's no harm done," Amberley replied.
Fountain was staring at his captive. "Who the devil are you?" he demanded wrathfully. "What do you think you're doing?"
The shock of his wrenched arm seemed to have sobered Mark a little. He shot a vengeful look up at Fountain. "Let me go!" he muttered. "I'm not going to tell you anything. Let me go!"
Fountain continued to hold him by one arm. "Get on to the police, Collins," he ordered.
The bloodshot eyes gleamed. "You'd better not," Mark said in a threatening voice. "You'll be sorry if you do. Damned sorry, I can tell you. Nobody's going to interfere with me!"
"Squiffy," said Corkran. "Drunk as a lord. Who is he?"