“All right,” echoed a voice at the window. There was O’Brien’s head at the window and along the sill gleamed the barrel of another revolver, and then another as a stalwart policeman loomed up beside O’Brien.
My head cleared and my eyes stopped blinking in the sudden light.
The man at the closet door was Dr. Fred Hajek. His face was putty-coloured. His small eyes gleamed like a frightened animal’s. His raincoat dripped moisture in a little puddle on the floor.
“Got him covered, O’Brien?” said O’Leary cheerfully.
“Right!” said O’Brien.
O’Leary leaped lightly from the bed, strode over to the burlap screen, and pulled it back.
Jim Gainsay stood there, his cap pulled low over his eyes, his lean jaw set. One hand was thrust into the pocket of his coat, and the other grasped a small, square box. At the sight of the box I gasped something and pointed.
“The—the radium!”
“It’s you, is it?” said O’Leary in a strange voice.
Hajek made a sudden movement; O’Leary whirled.