He hovered there in indecision for a fraction of an instant before the answer came. Mere bloodshed was not enough—but violence was sometimes necessary in the cause of peace. It was a paradox whose truth was inescapable.
He stepped forward. His decision was made.
Barr broke off his speech and whirled. "Who are you? Guards! Guards!"
"They're not coming," Riddell said. "Your door's so solid they can't break in. We're here alone."
Barr's thin hands moved swiftly toward his hip, but Riddell moved also. Barr's gun came up just as Riddell's fist crashed into his arm. A shot whined across the room and buried itself in the luxurious panelling, and Riddell reached out and knocked the gun from Barr's fingers.
Again Barr screamed for his men. And from below came a loud roar, a shout of defiance. Riddell smiled. The soldiers sensed that someone had broken into Barr's stronghold.
"Let him have it!" yelled somebody. "Kill Barr!"
"We don't want to fight another war!" shouted another. Riddell glanced down and saw the soldiers, divided.
Barr crouched in the far corner. "Leave me alone, don't touch me."
Slowly, Riddell advanced across the room toward him, while the noise from below grew deafening. As he approached Barr, the small man suddenly whipped a knife from his jacket and circled around Riddell.