Clipper obeyed. Cliff was master of the situation. Hunter and hunted, both were now at his mercy. The scowling face of Clipper Tobin was equaled in expression by the puzzled countenance of Arnold Bodine.
“What’re you tryin’ to do?” demanded Clipper sullenly. “Sell out to this guy?”
“That’s none of your business,” responded Cliff. “I’ve got my own game.”
He was in a quandary. This was not an enviable spot. Cliff had saved Bodine, but neither did he desire to kill Clipper Tobin. Yet now that he had betrayed his hand, there would be certain danger if Clipper remained alive.
It was impractical to await the coming of The Shadow. This tableau of two men with hands poised in front of a revolver might lead to unexpected consequences. Cliff decided upon immediate action.
Even though he was now an enemy of Clipper’s, he could keep the gangster from discovering his true associations. Clipper’s last remark gave him a cue.
“I’ve got my own game,” declared Cliff. “Bodine’s not going to be bumped off by you. I’m going to let you slide out. That’s more than you deserve.”
“Double-crossin’ me, eh?” derided Clipper, defiant even in the face of death. “I get you now! Bodine fixed it with you before this. You tipped him off. He wanted to see the guy that was out to get him. You’re both yellow — you’ve got me here, but you’re scared to bump me!”
“Let him have it, Bud,” interposed Bodine, seeking to work with his rescuer. “I’ll slip you five grand for the job. He won’t squawk when he’s dead — and you won’t run any chances. They’ll think I got him.”
“That’s not in my game,” returned Cliff. “I don’t want your money, Bodine.”