Second landing.
His heart was loud. His feet became delicate, and he balanced on his toes, moving toward the final encounter.
There.
Norma had the guard. There was only one. She was speaking intently. The guard faced away from Herb.
Herb was in the corridor. He moved like a sigh, and the space between him and the guard shortened.
The guard turned, and Herb sprang. He crashed into the guard before the police automatic was clear of the shiny holster. The impact of his body spun the gun away.
They were down, wrestling viciously. Herb felt his head ring. He stifled a cry. Pain nestled in his groin. He struck out.
The guard smashed an elbow into Herb's nose. He got up and kicked Herb in the face, and Herb jerked his leg savagely. Unbalanced, he went down. Herb was upon him. Breath hissed out, and Herb struck viciously with his gun butt. Panting, he stood.
"It's locked," he said, testing the door. Norma had recovered the guard's automatic. Whitefaced she stood.
Bloody nosed, bleeding, Herb threw himself into the panel. There was a great, kettle drum boom and the panel held. Again he slammed into it. It splintered away. He fought through the shards of maple; and was halfway into the room when Bud, looking up from the telephone, fired. Herb sighed and fell to the left and his gun slipped from his hand.