He glanced coldly at Senov; then at Cliff. Back and forth went his shrewd eyes. Cliff avoided them and stared toward Senov. There, as Motkin was glancing away, Cliff caught a momentary tightening of the big Russian’s lips. He knew that Senov wanted him to preserve silence.
To Cliff, both Senov and Motkin were enemies. They were also enemies of each other. It was obvious that they both regarded Cliff as a lesser foe. Thinking of his own situation, Cliff could see that the most natural way out would be to treat with Motkin.
IT was for that very reason that Cliff evolved another plan. He could tell that he was dealing with merciless men — one as bad as the other. To curry Motkin’s favor might bring promises, but he would still be in the shrewd-faced man’s power.
On the contrary, Senov, like Cliff, was in a dangerous position. He was facing death. To side with Senov would be to win a friend. So, as he met Motkin’s eyes, Cliff returned a calloused gaze. Senov was watching Cliff. The big Russian’s face was adamant.
“You will not speak?” Motkin was questioning Cliff, choosing him as the one most likely to yield. “You will not speak? We shall see!”
He motioned to his companion to cover Senov. The man obeyed. Motkin turned his revolver toward Cliff, and advanced with slow tread, fixing a hypnotic gaze on the man before him. Cliff waited.
“Unless you speak” — Motkin’s voice became a hiss as he spoke — “it will mean death!”
Motkin’s eyes were close to Cliff’s. They bore a stern, malicious threat. Cliff’s lips quavered, as though they were unable to speak, through fright. Motkin laughed hoarsely.
Then Cliff performed the unexpected. From a state of pretended weakness, he became a swift, fierce power of action. He flung himself directly upon the menacing man with a fury so surprising that he caught Motkin unawares.
Cliff’s left hand thrust flat for the muzzle of the gun, while his right delivered a hooking blow.