The drama had gone far enough. Bruce knew that he must make good his boast. It was right that he should kill the ape-man, the horrible monster that was responsible for at least four deaths. His own safety depended upon immediate action. The effect of the ape-man's death would awe Chefano; from then on, Bruce could deal with a single, helpless foe.
* * *
He threw one last glance at Chefano. The man's distorted lips had formed a brutal smile. There was a sudden noise from behind. Two iron hands gripped Bruce Duncan's wrists, and his arms were twisted toward the floor. The revolver slipped from his left hand; the automatic in his right roared as he pulled the trigger. The bullets ricocheted from the stone floor. The ape-faced monster was unharmed.
The creature was upon Bruce, but at Chefano's hissing whistle it withdrew. The twisted lips spat a command, and the monster slunk back to its corner.
Its assistance was not needed. The man who had fallen upon Bruce Duncan from behind had caught him unawares. He lay helpless, upon his back, his eyes staring toward the doorway which he had entered.
The door was partway open now, and Bruce realized his mistake. Its hinges were at the opposite side. It was the entrance to a room at the end of the passage.
The half-opened door seemed to cast a heavy shadow in the passage. The door was swaying slightly, and the shadow seemed to move with it, then recede along the passageway. Chefano had taken the lantern from the wire and was bringing it closer.
"Put it back," ordered the man who was holding Duncan. "We don't need it."
"I wanted to see his face, close to," said Chefano. "You caught him right, Frenchy."
"I'm good at that," admitted Frenchy. "The trouble was the door. I had to be slow when I opened it. I was afraid the hinges would squeak."