"I've got to get to that phone! They're probably on their way to my office right this minute! If they take control—" He choked on the word and lay still, seeing the Snapper—his own—that Frank now leveled at him. "I suppose the two of you know this is high treason?" he said wearily. He lay there fuming at his enforced impotence.
Bob looked at Frank. "What'll we do?"
"I wish I knew!" Frank muttered. "If we knew what had happened, where the others have gone—But we don't, so there's no followup there.... Still, we can't leave Stanton here, now that he's seen us, or it's our necks when he gets free."
"We—" Bob said, hesitantly. "We could make sure he would not be able to do anything, later...." He let his voice trail off, Frank caught his meaning after an instant's puzzled frown, and went ashen.
"In cold blood, just like that?" he said softly.
"I don't like it any more than you, Frank.... But—" Bob spread his hands helplessly. "What choice do we have? If we're caught—you especially—the whole movement is doomed." He stood silent, waiting for his answer.
Frank nodded, abruptly. "You're right. It has to be done." Stanton looked from the face of one man to the other, his tongue licking suddenly dry lips.
"Bob—Frank—" Stanton spoke from the floor, his tone weak with dread. "I'm an old man. You wouldn't kill me, would you? I'll do anything—Forget I've seen you here, even ... anything ... only please don't—!"
"Listen, Frank," Bob said, trembling. "You heard what Stanton said: They've gone to his office. Take the Goon and go after them. I'll stay here with Stanton. If everything works out about the revolt—Fine. If it doesn't—Call me, here. The number's on the phone base. If the balloon goes up—I'll kill Stanton, then. But unless it does—I can't...."