He was close to the little companionway which led down a few steps into the barge’s stuffy cabin, and in his unreasoning terror he forgot that he would be bottled up effectually there, even if he should be able to reach that retreat with a whole skin.
With a cry of fear, he threw himself headforemost toward the sunken doorway of the cabin, but a bullet from Chick’s automatic caught him in the shoulder before he disappeared.
A howl of pain followed, and Siebold crumpled up in the doorway, just out of sight of his enemies, who promptly counted him out of their calculations.
Not so with Doctor Grantley, however.
That sturdy rascal had seen as quickly as Siebold had that their position was untenable. The detectives were under cover, while he was exposed. The sides of the canal boat rose only a few inches above the deck, so that there was no shelter corresponding to that of which the detectives had taken advantage so promptly.
In spite of his exposure, however, the murderous surgeon kept his head, and retreated slowly, firing as he went. His shots did no more than to drive a big splinter of wood into Jack Wise’s cheek as they struck the rail of the police boat, but, on the other hand, he seemed to bear a charmed life.
The trouble was that the detectives were trying to wound him slightly in the hands or arms, for the purpose of ending his resistance—or, at least, of rendering him incapable of using his weapon.
Such shots are difficult ones, and that was especially true just then, for a strong wind had sprung up, and was causing the police boat to rock to one tune, and the ponderous barges to another and entirely different one.
Besides, the description of the affray had occupied much more time than the affair itself.
Grantley began to move as soon as Siebold did, but he deliberately took his time about it, being bent, presumably, upon showing his contempt for his enemies’ aim.