If the seven, or any of them, tried to rush him, there was little doubt that he would make good his threat and shoot their leader, which he could easily do before any of them could reach him.
And even aside from that, such an attack could hardly be successful, in itself, if the young detective was in earnest about firing into the crowd at the first sign of hostile action.
The nearest of them, Doctor Siebold, was nearly six feet away, beyond the narrow, body-choked doorway. Patsy’s quick-firing automatic could probably speak twice before that space could be covered, especially as the three prostrate forms which occupied most of the distance would make the going very precarious.
Siebold was armed, to be sure, but Patsy’s keen eyes were watching his every movement with lynxlike intentness, and it would have been folly to suppose that Grantley’s assistant could get the drop before such an experienced man hunter.
Still, the situation was trying enough for Patsy, and it demanded so much concentration that it could not be expected to remain unchanged for long.
Nick’s assistant was beginning to wonder when help would come, if at all. Neither he nor Nick had found opportunity as yet to whistle for the police. They had been kept too busy ever since the need had arisen so suddenly, and now it was out of the question.
Even if Patsy had dared to withdraw either weapon in order to use his police whistle—which would have been a risky experiment as things were—the move would have been fruitless, for the whistle was reposing in one of the pockets of the coat which he had shed when he broke away.
There was Adelina, however.
There was a telephone in the next house, and it seemed more than likely that his wife had grown somewhat alarmed before that, over their long absence, and had telephoned for the bluecoats.
Besides, it seemed probable that she had heard the sounds of strife and knew that her friends were meeting with vigorous resistance.