“Stop that!” his voice cracked like a whip. Hajek, with a furious glance at the men in the window, subsided.
O’Leary turned again, walked to the middle of the room and paused, looking from one man to the other with a curious expression in his eyes.
“Well,” he said. “I’ve got you both.”
Gainsay started to speak and stopped as the nose of one of the revolvers shifted restlessly.
“Put down your hands if you want to, Hajek,” said O’Leary easily. “Or—wait a moment.”
He crossed to him, ran his hands quickly over Hajek’s pockets, unheeding the fury in those little eyes, extracted a small revolver and tossed it on the bed and smiled.
“There you are, Doctor,” he said politely. “You may lower your hands, now.”
There was a slight commotion at the window.
“Here’s somebody, Mr. O’Leary,” said someone. “He was in the shrubbery and you said not to let anybody get away.”
O’Leary peered into the little group at the window, then his eyes lightened.