"You'll go!" the stranger snapped.
"I don't think we will," Scotty answered. "Look, mister. You're in a hotel. It's early, and there are people in the lobby. How far do you think you'd get if you tried to march us downstairs with a gun in your hand?"
"We're not going through the lobby," the stranger told them. "We're going the way we came—through the window. And you'll go quietly or we'll take our chances. They might catch us, but you wouldn't care with a couple of slugs in you. Pete, go outside and wait. They'll come down one at a time. Keep them covered, and don't hesitate to shoot if they try anything."
The shadow slipped through the window, hung by his hands, and dropped.
The stranger's gun singled out Rick. "Get going."
Rick shrugged. There was nothing else to do but obey—at least for the moment. He looked at Scotty, and his pal made a small gesture to the right. Rick's forehead wrinkled. This was no signal he recognized, unless Scotty meant to jump to the right.
He swung a leg over the sill and looked down. The shadow was waiting, and the light from the window glinted dully off the gun in his hand. Rick went on out, then holding by his hands he gave a swing to the right and dropped. The gun covered him as he rose to his feet again.
"Against the wall!" the shadow hissed.
Rick dutifully moved back against the wall. The shadow was standing about six feet away.
Overhead, Scotty was climbing through the window now. Rick watched carefully as his pal lowered himself to full length, and swung to the left.