"That's rich," chuckled the other, laying the pocket battery on the mantel. "Not a thing lying heavy on your conscience, I s'pose?"
"There is not!" Lawrence retorted sharply. "And I'll tell you this: You've made one big mistake, and I should hate awfully to be in your shoes when I tell my story in a station house or courtroom. If you're on the regular force—which I doubt very much—you'll be broken into little bits. If you're just a private citizen from one of these bureaus, you'd better make plans for skipping the country, for I give you my word I mean to push this to the limit."
The flash of worried doubt which swept across the detective's face, and was gone in an instant, was all Barry needed to confirm the suspicion which had been growing in his mind for the past few minutes. The fellow did not know what his prisoner was wanted for. That was one of the reasons why he had remained in the room. What was the motive of these apparently casual hints and questions. He did not know, and he was beginning to be very anxious to find out.
Probably he had been hired to kidnap Lawrence, and bring him to this house without being told anything definite as to Barry's supposed misdoings, beyond a vague tale of some lawlessness said to have been committed abroad.
It would be simply a waste of valuable time to linger longer here trying to learn the impossible, and Lawrence had no wish to stay until the arrival of his real enemies. He was intensely curious to meet them face to face, and find out something of the cause of the extraordinary persecution, but he much preferred choosing his own time and place.
"I think before this time to-morrow," Barry went on swiftly, "that you'll be mighty sorry you ever undertook the case."
The detective shrugged his shoulders in an affectation of bravado, which did not deceive the captive for a second. The latter had not stirred from the middle of the room, but now his muscles were tense and ready for action, and every nerve quivered as he awaited the slightest opening.
"I ain't worrying a whole lot," the dark-haired man returned. "I reckon you're the one who'll be sorry you ever bumped up against me. There ain't a doubt in——"
In his attempt to show how little he was disturbed by his prisoner's threats, he had been swinging the automatic negligently back and forth on one crooked finger. Either his suppressed nervousness got the better of him, or his mind was so busy with other things that he did not realize how careless he had become. At all events, the weapon slipped off his finger and struck the floor with a thud.
Like a flash he stooped to snatch it up. But Barry was even quicker. With a single lithe spring he had leaped across the intervening space. One hand, the muscular fingers tightly clenched, caught the detective on the chin, and sent him backward with a crash which made the floor shake. The other arm, outstretched, swept the glass lamp from the mantel, and caught up the pocket flash light in one and the same motion.