“‘All right,’ he growled, ‘back the car into the alley.’
“He climbed into the back seat and pressed cold steel against the back of my neck.
“Of course I had to look through the rear window to back into the alley. That gave me an idea. I blinked my eyes as if I saw someone behind the car. He was nervous. They generally are. Who wouldn’t be?
“He turned his head to look back. I had a small 32 in my pocket. I whipped it out and took a pot shot at him.
“My hand struck the back of the seat. The gun flew up. I missed.
“He whirled about and put his gun on my temple. ‘You murderin’ —— ——,’ he said, and pulled the trigger three times.
“The gun didn’t go off.” Drew paused to smile. “Sometimes a fellow gets a break that makes him want to believe in angels and things like that.
“That gun was loaded with slugs. It had a lock on it. He had failed to release the lock. He threw away his gun and grabbed for mine.
“We grappled, and I went over the seat on top of him, shouting to my friend: ‘Go call the police.’ He went.
“Then we fought it out there alone. That’s where keeping fit came in. He was a tough egg with a record long as your arm. He was strong. He was desperate. The ‘stir’ craze was on him.