Ferret waited no longer. With a wicked chuckle he dived for the door that led to the rear of the apartment. He had decided this conflict just as he had threatened to do. He had wounded Antrim, and left the rest for Solly. With the echoes of the gunfire resounding through the apartment, it was time for him to be on his way.
Solly did not notice Ferret's departure. This man — he did not know Ferret's identity — had saved his life. Antrim, crumpled on the floor, was trying his best to raise himself to a firing position. Solly Bricker showed him no mercy.
Thrice the gang leader's automatic pumped leaden carriers of death into the writhing form. Daniel Antrim, the double-crosser, lay dead and motionless when Solly lowered his pistol and strode to the desk. He snatched up the documents that lay there. His quick scrutiny revealed that they referred to him. They betrayed Antrim's plans to have Bricker brought to justice — because Solly had refused to enter into a compact with the crooked lawyer!
Antrim had never threatened; but from the moment that Solly had received Ferret's phone call, he had been suspicious. That fact had accounted for his prompt arrival with his mob.
Cursing, Solly spat at the dead man on the floor. Then, recalling the beginning of the conflict, he turned to the door through which his four gorillas were appearing.
"Get that guy!" exclaimed Solly. "The one I knocked cold. Drag him in here!" The gang leader thrust the incriminating papers in his pocket, and watched as the hoodlums lugged Harry Vincent to the center of the room. Their victim was still senseless.
"Prop him up, two of you!" ordered Solly. "The others stand guard. One at the front door. One at the back. We're going to scram."
Harry, his body twisted crazily, was spread-eagled by his outstretched arm. His form was held upright between two sullen-faced mobsters. His head was leaning face downward. The side of his face and neck showed the mark of the blow that Solly had delivered.
Stalking forward, Solly clenched his left fist and brought it upward brutally. He struck Harry forcibly on the chin, and the helpless man's head flopped back. Solly leered at the pale, expressionless face.
"He's out," declared the mob leader. "Out cold. That's because I hit him. I knock 'em cold. We've got to scram. No time to waste. Hold him — I'll do the rest."