“None of that stuff!” he exclaimed. “Drawing a picture of me, eh? Smart, eh? That’s enough from you. Hand me that pencil!”
HARKNESS reached down to the floor and fumbled for the pencil. His hand came up. It paused an instant by a little compartment in the table — a compartment which had a half-opened door. Then his hand came in view.
It held an automatic!
The big man uttered a cry as he saw the gun. Harkness had caught him unawares. The big man’s own gun was lying on his lap.
Had the big man been the only adversary, he would have been an easy prey. But Harkness was ignoring the big man. As he brought up the gun, he turned its muzzle toward the silent short man who stood watching him.
The architect’s act was hidden by the table until the big man gave his cry. He was the first of the two thugs to see the gun.
Harkness fired the instant the alarm was sounded. Hardly had he pulled the trigger before the short man’s gun responded.
Harkness, hurrying his aim, had missed. But the masked man was a marksman. His bullet entered the architect’s body below the right shoulder. Harkness gasped as he fell back in his chair.
The big man was on his feet, alarmed. Then he realized that the shots had probably gone unheard.
Harkness was badly wounded. The gun had fallen from his hand. His eyes had closed; now he opened them. At that sign of life, the short man came forward, crouching over his victim.