“Sit down!” he cried, with a wolfish snarl. “Sit down, or I’ll send you after him. I’m here for business, and you’ll find I mean it.”
Madison shrank instinctively from the deadly weapon, sinking back on his chair, as ghastly with fear and dismay as if the hand of death already had been laid upon him.
“Sit quiet, now,” snarled Deland, still with terrible ferocity. “If you stir, hang you, I’ll send a bullet into you.”
Madison’s only reply was a hopeless groan.
Deland placed his revolver on the chair from which the detective had fallen, face down on the floor, with one arm crooked under his battered head.
Crouching beside him, with one eye constantly on the lawyer, Deland drew up Nick’s coat and got his revolver, thrusting it into his own pocket. Then, fishing out the detective’s handcuffs, he drew Nick’s arms behind him and locked the iron around his wrists.
All was accomplished in a very few seconds, and with the brutal energy and determination of one ready to meet opposition with instant bloodshed.
Rising, Deland then dragged Nick a few feet from the desk, to which he then turned, seizing his revolver and taking the chair from which the detective had fallen.
“Killed him, eh?” he now snarled coldly, fixing his glittering eyes on the ghastly face of the lawyer. “It will be a good thing for you, for both of us, if I have killed him. That’s the only look in we’ve got. If I haven’t done it, blast him, I’ll do it later.”
Madison pulled himself together with an effort and straightened up in his chair. He already knew how lawless and desperate a knave confronted him, but his first flush of fear had subsided.