"It won't take but a minute."
"All right."
He sighed, picked up the brief case, and followed Dora outside. She showed him the door of an office some thirty paces from his own, and he entered without knocking.
A frail man, with a bald head and a squiggly moustache, stood up behind his desk.
"Oh, dear," he said nervously. "I'm terribly sorry to do this, Mr. Blacker. But I have my instructions."
"Do what?"
"Oh, dear," Mr. Wright said again.
He took the gun that was lying in his out-box, and fired it. His trembling hand sent the bullet spanging into the wooden frame of the door. Tom dropped to the thick carpet, and then scrambled to the tall credenza set against the right wall of the office. He shoved it aside with his left hand and ducked behind it. The treasurer came out from behind his desk, still muttering to himself.
"Please," he said in anguish, "this is very painful for me!"