“There he is! Get him!”
The cry came from Volovick.
Lifting the bench, Harry flung it directly at the flashlight. At the same instant, two shots rang out.
As the bench left his grasp, Harry felt a stinging sensation in his left arm, above the elbow. He gripped the spot with his right hand.
The bench which he had flung found its mark. Volovick must have raised an arm to ward it off; but it was coming with terrific force. Harry heard the crash, as a table was overturned. Glasses broke.
The flashlight fell upon the floor, its gleam turned uselessly toward the rear wall.
Harry swayed as he gripped his wounded arm. Then a light hand was pressed against his right shoulder. As he was about to swing away, a soft, feminine whisper stayed him.
“Come with me. Quickly.”
HARRY extended his right hand, and his wrist was grasped by a soft hand. Following the one who conducted him, Harry was drawn directly toward the table where the girl had been seated.
He could see nothing in the darkness; he caught himself as he stumbled against a bench. Then the hand left his wrist, and pressed against his shoulder.