"You bumped him off?"
"Tried to. We stopped past the turn and turned out the lights. When he came around, Harmon was ready for him, and opened up with a smoke wagon.
"The guy was headed right into the bullets, but he used his noodle. There was an open fence on the other side of the road, and he shot right through it, into a field."
"He wound up against a stone wall. Smashed his car. We didn't wait. We shoved off and came here, straight."
"You should have bumped him off!" Benson said.
"Why take a chance? If we'd gone after him, he might have been waiting for us with a gat. We picked a road way off in the country. It will take him a couple of hours to get out of that mess. Then how is he going to trail us?"
Benson grunted an agreement. He knew that the gangsters had come directly to Greenhurst, and had left their car in the woods. The pursuer — whoever he might be — would at least be delayed, even if he had escaped serious injury.
It was midnight. Hawthorne, in his cottage, was at the mercy of the invaders. It was time to act. Benson quickly stated his campaign.
"You go to the window, Grady," he ordered. "Pull away that loose screen, if you see Hawthorne sitting in the chair near the window. Nail him from in back. I'll be watching at the door.
"You, Shamlin, come along with me. You take the back door, Harmon. It's unlocked, and it leads to a hall that goes into the living room. If he tries to make a get-away, you'll be waiting for him.