With a sweep of his hand, he removed the heavy beard, revealing the sinister features of the former employee of the Lockyer yard.
“You see, you are in our power absolutely, Lockyer,” said Ferriss, suavely enough, but with a meaning inflection underlying his words. “Now what do you say to having a little confab about the boat?”
“That I would not treat with you for her if I were starving and you the only bidder,” was the indignant reply. “Let me pass please, Ferriss. I’ll walk back to the village.”
“Not yet, Lockyer,” rejoined Ferriss. “We really can’t let you go yet.” He held up a deprecating hand.
“What, you’d stop me? In that case, I’ll have to insist. I did not come unarmed.”
As he spoke, Mr. Lockyer drew a pistol from his coat pocket, and leveled it.
“Let me pass, Ferriss,” he said, in a determined voice.
But instead of replying, the other gave an imperceptible signal by drawing out his handkerchief. As he did so, Gradbarr, who had been standing behind the inventor, gave a quick step forward. His hand was raised. As Channing Lockyer’s finger pressed the trigger in his determination to force a path if necessary, Gradbarr’s arm descended.
There was a dull sound as the sand bag he wielded struck the inventor between the shoulders.