Had Motkin pressed the trigger of his revolver, he would have wounded Cliff in the hand, not in the body. That was Cliff’s protection, but his rapid action served him better.
He thrust the gun aside, and his right hand passed Motkin’s instinctive guard. The Bolshevik agent crumpled to the floor, Cliff upon him, fighting for the gun which clattered on the boards.
Motkin’s companion did the obvious. He turned in the direction of the fray and shot at Cliff, but the bullet missed by inches. Now, with Motkin and Cliff grappling on the floor, the man could not risk another shot.
He turned to stop Senov, whose presence suddenly occurred to him. Before he could fire, the huge Russian struck him down.
For a moment, the combined forces of Marsland and Senov had gained the field. Senov, with a brutal laugh, seized the gun that Motkin’s companion had dropped. He kicked the prostrate man squarely in the face; then turned to attack Motkin.
At that instant, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Senov turned to meet new enemies. He fired point-blank at the first one who appeared. The man dropped at the report of the gun, and Senov, like a huge bull, crashed through the others. His heavy form went charging down the stairs.
Cliff, unheeding what was going on about him, had gained a certain hold on Motkin. He was pinning the Red agent to the floor. Then, one of the men who had staggered back from the door came to the rescue.
Leaping forward, he dealt a hard blow with his revolver. Cliff collapsed upon the floor.
Motkin, half choked by Cliff’s furious grip, rose to his feet. He looked about to see that Senov had gone.
He paused as he heard shots from the street below.