“What’s all this about?” demanded Smull. “I don’t get you, Annan——”
“You don’t get anybody. That’s why your activities are ridiculous and you obnoxious.”
Smull’s grin became mechanical: “Are you trying to quarrel with me over a skirt who has made monkeys out of both of us——”
Annan hit him hard. He lost his balance, stumbled backward and landed on a leather sofa, seated. His left eye was already puffing up. He seemed too astonished to stir.
Annan went over to the door, locked it, leaving the key there. Then he came back and waited for Smull to get up, which he did after a moment, and began to remove his coat and waistcoat.
“We’ll both be expelled,” he said coolly, “but it’s worth it to me——”
A heavy automatic pistol fell from an inside coat pocket to the carpet.
“That’s what I ought to use on you,” he remarked; but he picked it up and dropped it into the side pocket of his coat.
Then he turned and was on Annan like a panther. Both fell, smashing a chair; both were on their feet the next second. But Smull’s bolt was sped. His face was congested; he was panting already. He had lived too well.
Annan walked toward him, perfectly aware that he could hit him when and where he chose.