Wilbur arose from the table, and, pointing his hand back to his hip pocket, said:
“One murder, more or less, won’t count.”
Elmer was too quick for him.
He had taken out his pistol some minutes before, unperceived, and held it under the table.
“Oh, I’ll block that game!” Greer cried, as he pulled the trigger of his self-cocking revolver.
The murderer of the broker fell to the floor a corpse; even in death, his hand still grasping his pistol butt.
CHAPTER XIII.
GONE.
Between Little Neck and Great Neck, Long Island, is a small settlement of negroes, who make a living by fishing and doing occasional work for neighboring farmers.
At this point Long Island Sound is widest.