Coming thus suddenly face to face, it would be hard to say which was more at a loss what to do, but as soon as he could speak, Reed gasped, "You?"
"Yes, me," answered Bob, "and if you don't step aside and let me pass, some one is going to get hurt and don't you forget it."
"Where's Jim?" Reed demanded, shutting the door.
"What's left of him is down stairs, and I rather guess he'll stay there a while."
As Bob had taken the precaution to lock the door of the laboratory after he came out and had the key in his pocket, he felt that he had little to fear from that quarter for a time at least, even if King had come to.
"Your little game is up," he continued, "and you might as well step aside and save trouble and perhaps your head as well."
"Think so?" sneered Reed, and Bob saw him reach his hand back toward his hip pocket and before he was able to spring forward, he was looking into the barrel of a .32.
"Now, my young friend, I rather guess you will reconsider your conclusion. I don't want to hurt you, but I'd much prefer putting a bullet through you to letting you get away. Now, about face and march down to the laboratory again, and no monkey shines, or this here gun will be apt to go off, for when I get excited, my finger gets twitchy, and remember, if it does go off, the bullet will come out of the end that's pointing at you."
All this had probably not taken over a minute, but during that time, Bob had been doing some quick thinking and had resolved that, gun or no gun, he was not going to lose this chance. They passed out into the dining room, Reed following Bob at a distance of perhaps six feet. Reaching the door, at the head of the stairs, Bob pretended that he was trying to open it.
"It seems to be locked," he said, "Guess the wind must have blown it shut."