“You ought to know me better than that, Greggs,” he said, “do you want me to have another shot at you? I won’t miss this time. Drop that.”
The last command was given in a ringing voice that attracted every one’s attention to Sotty. He had picked up a revolver from somewhere behind the bar and had come out with it in his hand. McLean’s eye seemed to take in every motion in the room and he instantly covered the bartender with one of the pistols as he gave the command.
“Drop it,” said Mellish. “There must be no shooting. You may go quietly. No one will interfere with you.”
“You bet your sweet life they won’t,” said McLean with a laugh.
“Gentlemen,” continued Mellish, “the house will stand the loss. If I allow a swindler in my rooms it is but right that I alone should suffer. Now you put up your guns and walk out.”
“Good old Mellish,” sneered McLean, “you ought to be running a Sunday- school.”
Notwithstanding the permission to depart McLean did not relax his precautions for a moment. His shoulders scraped their way along the wall as he gradually worked towards the door. He kept Pony covered with his left hand while the polished barrel of the revolver in his right seemed to have a roving commission all over the room, to the nervous dread of many respectable persons who cowered within range. When he reached the door he said to Pony:
“I hope you’ll excuse me, Greggs, but this is too good an opportunity to miss. I’m going to kill you in your tracks.”
“That’s about your size,” said Pony putting his hands behind him and standing in his place, while those near him edged away. “I’m unarmed, so it is perfectly safe. You will insure your arrest so blaze away.”
“Dodge under the table, then, and I will spare you.”