It all depended on Siebold’s willingness to go that far, and his ability to hit his mark at the first shot.
“Shoot him down, you fools!” screamed Grantley, who had been emboldened by the removal of the muzzle from his ribs. “And a couple of you go next door and get the woman. Go the back way. The street is probably full of gaping idiots, drawn by the explosion. Don’t let them see you.”
The young detective’s heart sank at the words. Adelina was in danger, and he could do nothing to help her.
In a rage, he kicked Grantley in the head and had the satisfaction of hearing a shuddering sigh at his feet. He could not look down, but he felt sure that Grantley was unconscious. The kick had been a powerful one.
The vivisectionist’s brutal advice had its effect, however, and spurred on his reluctant followers. One of those in the operating room leaped aside and made for the door, and Siebold sent one of the two who had accompanied him to join the first and carry out Grantley’s instructions.
The die was cast.
Patsy’s enemies ceased to hang back and content themselves with halfway measures. Their fears were forgotten, and, although most of them probably did not know what was to come of it, their leader’s words inflamed them.
Almost immediately a shot rang out in the narrow hall. Siebold had fired at Nick’s assistant.
The latter stiffened expectantly, involuntarily, but the bullet sang past his head and was embedded in the wall beyond. Siebold had missed.
The weapon in Patsy’s right hand answered at once, and although it was impossible for its owner to see what success it had had, he heard a startled, agonized exclamation, followed by a fall.