He slipped from the front seat, and Lance could hear the soft crunching of his feet. Marty was walking around the car. Lance felt uncomfortable. He did not like the delay. Silently, he drew his automatic and inclined it toward the form in back.
A few shots in the dark — that would end the wait! Marty would be back in the car in an instant. They would have to leave in a hurry. Lance could explain that the captive had been releasing himself.
With an evil chuckle, Lance pressed his automatic against Harry’s body. He felt the muzzle nudge against the helpless man’s ribs. The temptation was enough.
“Here goes!” muttered Lance, as he placed his finger upon the trigger.
AT that instant, a hand caught the gunman’s wrist. The door of the car had been opened so softly that Lance had not known it.
The clutching hand was invisible — a thing of blackness that had come as if from nowhere. It swept Lance Bolero’s arm upward. The shot from the automatic shattered the rear window of the car.
With an oath, Lance was grappling for his unseen opponent. Down came another hand, swinging a heavy revolver. Lance — purely by accident — dodged the blow as he shot forward over the back of the seat.
Lance Bolero was stocky and heavy. He was one of the toughest rowdies in gangdom. His attack was delivered with a mad fury, for he no longer held his automatic. It had clattered to the floor, twisted from his grasp. A form came up to stop him, but Lance had launched himself forward and downward.
The other man went back as the gangster’s body struck him. Together, they hurtled from the side of the car to the ground below. Lance was on top, his eager fingers clutching for the other man’s throat. The body beneath him took the full force of the fall. Lance was sure that his enemy was stunned.
Then came amazement for Lance Bolero. He heard metal click against the paving — his antagonist’s revolver had dropped. Even as Lance clutched the other’s throat, two powerful hands were upon the eager gangster.