Half the length of the room separated him from the four men, and if they had attempted to rush him, he could have—and probably would have—dropped all four of them before they could have reached him.
“That’s better!” he said grimly, as the quartet quickly raised their hands above their heads. “Now, kindly oblige me by walking backward and standing with your backs to that wall behind you. Be quick about it!”
The waiter outside could have laughed at the ignominious spectacle presented by the four masked burglars as they silently and sullenly shuffled backward, and ranged themselves in a line against the wall.
Although the scene appealed to his sense of humor, it also had its serious side—even from Max’s point of view.
All his plans for the future would be ruined if these men were captured and their identity unmasked. At any rate, they must be allowed to escape, and, after a moment’s hurried thought, the waiter drew out his own revolver and cautiously pushed the muzzle under the lower edge of the curtain.
“Massey doesn’t happen to be the only crack shot on hand,” he told himself.
“I’m now going to ring for help,” the millionaire announced, moving slowly toward an electric button set into his desk. “You’ll remain just where you are until the servants come, and the very first man among you who attempts to play any tricks will be shot down like a dog, without any further——”
Crack!
At that moment Max Berne pressed the trigger of his revolver, and the bullet, true to its aim, struck Massey on the wrist, shattering the bone and causing him to drop the weapon with an involuntary howl of pain.
What happened next the waiter did not stop to see. As soon as he had fired and had thereby given Atherton and his companions a chance to make their escape, he leaped to his feet and dashed off in the direction of the wooden door, which opened into the lane.