“Tried to kill me, did you?” His voice was an angry threat, spoken in tones filled with venom. “You got yours — and that’s not all—”
His hand came up, bringing the automatic on a level with the architect’s eyes. A sudden terror gripped Harkness, when he saw death facing him.
“Don’t shoot!” he gasped. “Don’t! I’ll tell you — tell you — where—”
“Don’t shoot!” exclaimed the big man, leaping forward.
He was too late. The hatred of the crouching man had reached his climax. A revengeful oath came from beneath the masking handkerchief as the small man pressed the trigger of his automatic.
Richard Harkness lay dead, shot down in cold blood!
The short man was laughing hideously. He gloated like an evil monster as he stood above the body of his victim.
His companion also stared at the dead man in the chair. Into this silent scene came the ringing of the telephone. The big man answered it.
“All right,” he said in a tense voice. “No… It’s too late now. I’ll tell you later. Wait until I call you.”
He laid down the telephone and took the handkerchief from his face, revealing the features of Briggs.