“‘Don’t resist me,’ I said. ‘I’m an officer.’
“‘I’ll kill you with your own gun if it’s the last thing I ever do!’ That was his answer.
“We fought and struggled. He banged me here. He banged me there. He bit my hand to the bone. Once he pressed my own gun to my head, but my finger was on the trigger. He couldn’t shoot.
“‘Pull the trigger, —— —— you! Pull the trigger. It’s on your head!’ That’s what he said.
“A stranger heard the noise and came to look at us.
“‘Call the police!’ I yelled. ‘Call the police!’
“You should have heard him hot-footing out of there! I tell you that was funny!
“And then we bumped into the door. It flew open. We tumbled out. I got my chance. I fired one shot. I got my man.
“Hey, waiter!” Drew called with a smile. “Bring us some more coffee. This has gone cold.”
“Of course,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s always too bad when a man has to die. But it was one or the other of us. He wasn’t much good. They wanted him for a dozen robberies, and for shooting a policeman.