The man couldn’t stand the dark and the certain knowledge that outside men were speeding toward that very room, men who would shoot first and ask questions afterward.
Bob wondered whether tossing another key would again trick the man at the door.
Before he could decide there was a stab of flame in the blackness and a bullet crashed through the desks where he had been hiding.
“Come on; give me that key!” The voice was hysterical now, a scream that cut through the room and echoed out the shattered window.
Down below another police siren was ebbing as a second car pulled up at the curb and disgorged its load of armed men, who rushed into the building to follow the lead of the first detail.
Bob faintly heard elevator doors clang open. It would be only seconds now until they were at the door, beating their way in.
By this time Bob’s eyes were well accustomed to the darkness and he could distinguish the shadow of the man crouched near the door, listening now to the pounding of the police as they charged up the long corridor.
“Bob, Bob! Where are you?”
It was Merritt Hughes and Bob thrilled at the voice of his uncle. Then dismay filled him for he knew what would happen if they broke down the door and charged into the room for a trapped man is always dangerous.
Fists beat against the door and two ribbons of flame streaked from the gun, the bullets crashing through the door and out into the corridor.