He fired the gun again, and the bullet tore a white hole in the wall above Tom's head.
"Don't be so difficult," the little man pleaded. "Sooner or later—"
But Tom insisted upon being difficult. His fingers closed around a loose volume of New York State Tax Laws, and jiggled it in readiness. When the little treasurer came closer, he sprung from hiding and hurled the book. It slammed against Wright's side, and surprised him enough to send the arm holding the weapon into the air. That was the advantage Tom wanted. He leaped in a low-flying tackle, and brought Wright to the carpet. Then he was on top of the little man, grappling for the gun. Tom fought hard to get the gun.
He got it, but not before it was fired again.
Tom looked down at the widening stain that was marring the smooth texture of the carpet and was horrified. He bent down over the frail figure, lifting the bald head in his hands.
"Mr. Wright!"
The treasurer groaned. "Sorry," he said. "Instructions, Mr. Blacker ..."
"From whom? Andrusco?"
"Yes ... Your message reported from switchboard ... had orders ..."
"Is it true?" Tom said frantically. "About Antamunda? Is the story true?"