With reasonable promptness, hands still in the air, Grantley started to obey the detective’s order. He moved slowly, grudgingly, his face distorted with rage and hate.
Chester started to follow the older man toward the wall, but Chick halted him.
“Hold up, there, Schofield-Chester!” the young detective ordered. “One at a time, if you don’t mind!”
He wished to prevent the confusion that would result from the simultaneous movement of the four scoundrels.
Chester paused with a snarl, and Grantley went on alone. He was making for the corner nearest to Nick, who still stood close to the door. In doing so, he was obliged to pass in front of the detective.
It had been no part of Nick’s plan to have the fugitive take to that corner, and he suddenly realized that the criminal was crossing a little too close to him for safety.
“Here, keep to the left a little——” he began sharply, when Grantley was about four feet away.
But before he could complete his sentence, the escaped convict ducked and threw his body sidewise, the long arms were already above his head and he left them where they were. Their abnormal length helped to bridge the distance between him and Nick as he flung himself at the detective.
Nick guessed the nature of the move, as if by instinct, and when he fired, which he did immediately, it was with depressed muzzle. He had allowed, in other words, for the swift descent of Grantley’s body.
In spite of that, however, the bullet merely plowed a furrow across the criminal’s shoulder and back, as he dropped. It did not disable him in the least, and, before Nick could fire again. Grantley’s peculiar dive ended with a vicious impact against his legs, and clawlike hands gripped him about the knees in an effort to pull him down.