"May I go to the bathroom?"
The man in the chair near the bathroom nodded. There was no exit from the bathroom.
"Leave the door open," he advised.
Alone, he would have risen and faced the bathroom door. But across the room was his companion, who, from where he sat, could see into the bathroom obliquely. Slowly the prisoner passed the chair. He was the picture of dejection. With unbelievable swiftness in a man so big he turned and threw his arms over the Secret Service man's head, bringing the manacle chain against his throat, murderously, all but garroting him. The automatic had scarcely touched the floor before the blond man, releasing his victim and stooping behind the chair, recovered it.
Now comes the point upon which his endeavor had been based. When you lean back in a chair, to recover necessitates a sharp forward tilt. Sometimes you get all the way down and sometimes you have to make a second effort. So it happened to the operative by the window, dumfounded by the daring and suddenness of the attack. As he threw himself forward the second time violently the automatic slipped. He caught it, but not quick enough.
"Drop it! For I shall shoot to kill. Get up. Now kick it in my direction. Very good." These words were uttered with dispassionate coolness.
The victim of the garroting was writhing and coughing on the floor. He would be out of it for several minutes. There was only one idea in his head—to get air through his tortured throat.
To the other operative the blond man said: "I am a desperate man and I promise to kill you if you do not obey me absolutely. Unless I go forth free I might as well go forth dead. It is my life against yours. Walk toward me with your hands up."
The Secret Service operative had heard voices like this before, and he wanted to live. Moreover, he knew that every exit would be covered until the patrol arrived, if it were not already at the curb. At the utmost the blond devil's victory would be short-lived.
"You win," he said, quietly, stepping forward.