Clipper gained the automatic, but before he could bring it into play, Bodine was struggling with him.
Clipper was the stronger; Bodine fought with the desperation of a man who knows that minutes gained will mean rescue.
They whirled about the room, Bodine hoping that he could knock the telephone from its table and shout for help. People might arrive from downstairs before Cardona and his squad. But Bodine did not succeed. Gradually Clipper brought the muzzle of the automatic toward his opponent’s body.
Shots cracked. They missed. Clipper, enraged, tried to free himself. He fired again taking hurried aim, and a bullet shattered the glass front of a small bookcase. Then Bodine, grappling, forced the muzzle of the automatic underneath his own arm.
Clipper pressed the weapon upward as he discharged two shots in quick succession. One reached its mark. Bodine, crippled, lost his hold. Clipper flung him to the floor. He fired his last two bullets into Bodine’s heart. Then he stood panting like a fierce beast that had killed its prey.
The struggle had carried him to the corner of the room. With a snarl, Clipper jerked open the large window and drank great drafts of fresh air. Turning, he spied Cliff Marsland’s helpless form. He aimed his automatic and pressed the trigger.
Then he remembered that the gun was empty. He leaped across the room like a wild animal and snatched up the automatic that lay beside Cliff. A sudden leer appeared upon Clipper’s evil face. He might need every bullet in this gun. Help was coming — every bullet might be useful. But that could wait. He pocketed the pistol.
With a display of prodigious strength, Clipper picked up Cliff’s body and carried it to the window. He looked out as he prepared to thrust the body through. The roof of the garage was a trifle to the left.
Directly beneath was the blackness of the blind alley. That was where Cliff Marsland would die!
Clipper was thrusting the body headforemost. Cliff’s head and shoulders were hanging over space.