“If you have good reasons for death,” came the whispered voice, “I shall not deny you the privilege. But if all you need is money and friendship to make life worth continuing, they are yours — if you will do my bidding.”
Mann laid the gun on the table. He stared straight at the man in black.
“What do you ask?” he inquired.
“Obedience. Full obedience. Without question. You will have life and honor. But my bidding shall be law.”
Silence. Mann stared at that strange figure, seeking to observe the hidden lips that had spoken those all-important words. He was thinking of the future.
Which would it be — his body, lifeless in this chair — or Rutledge Mann, alive and active, freed from poverty. It all seemed unreal, but he treated it with seriousness.
“I accept your offer,” was Mann’s spoken decision, as he stared into those glowing eyes.
“You promise full obedience.”
“I promise.”
A black-gloved hand placed something upon the table, beside the automatic. Mann looked at the object.