My visitor reached the window and snatched one of the heavy curtains aside. I caught a glimpse of a startled face—saw the face twist into a sudden, frightened snarl. Then Moore’s hand flashed to his hip as I got to my feet. The room rang with the crash of a revolver shot and I clapped my hand to the side of my head. I saw the intruder stumble forward into the room through the smoke, tearing with both hands at his chest, and then sink limply to the floor. A small metal object shaped something like a hammer-head dropped from his hand as he fell.
Glass was still tinkling on the floor from a broken picture behind me as my visitor slipped his revolver back in his pocket and stooped over the fallen man. “Good Lord, so soon?” I heard him whisper.
I stumbled over to him, speechless, as Larry came running into the room, a ludicrous look of apprehension on his face. It cleared a little when he saw me. Then a moment later he caught sight of the blood on the side of my face and came running over to me. “My God, sor, did he get you bad? I’ll tear the heart out av him.” He turned on Moore, and then for the first time caught sight of the man on the floor. Moore turned to me at the same moment.
“Did he get you? Not badly, did he?” He strode over to me. “Let’s have a look! No, just a scratch, thank goodness. Close call though.”
“Say, what the devil is it all about?” I began. “Who is this fellow, and what the hell did he get me with? I’ll swear there was only one revolver shot and that was yours.”
But Moore interrupted me. “Listen,” he said quickly. “That one is dead, I think, and a good job too. But you and I are also, or as good as dead, if a word of this gets into the papers. I want you to ’phone to police headquarters, if your head will let you, and ask for Captain Peters. Don’t talk to any one else on any account. When you get him, give him this address and tell him to come here at once. Give him no name, but tell him he’s wanted. Better wash out that wound first, though. Get rid of your man and keep his mouth shut, will you? I’m going to search this fellow.”
Whatever it was that had struck me, the wound on the side of my head was only a scratch. Larry, seething with indignation and curiosity, washed it out for me, keeping up a running fire of questions the while, to which I returned no answer. My visitor’s manner, to say nothing of my own narrow escape, had convinced me that the matter was serious, and the less Larry knew the less he could talk, though I doubted anything but his discretion. A few moments later I went to the telephone, leaving Larry in his room with orders to stay there and to keep his mouth shut in future, and leaving Moore still busy with his victim. My own head was seething with remonstrance and questions, to say nothing of a slight dizziness induced by the blow it had received. But I succeeded in getting Captain Peters and delivering my message. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tell him!” came over the wire to me, followed by the crash of the receiver in its socket. Then I turned back to Moore and the thing he was searching.
He looked up as I gave him the captain’s message. “Thanks,” he said. Then, indicating the man on the floor, “Nothing at all on him except—this! What do you make of it? Be careful!”
I took the metal object that the intruder had dropped as he fell. But I could make nothing of it. It resembled nothing I had ever seen except that there was a projection about an inch long from the middle of it that might be a muzzle. It was made of blued steel and built to fit in the hand when half closed, so that the muzzle protruded between the second and third fingers.
“It’s some sort of an air revolver,” Moore explained; “but I’ve never seen anything just like it before. Maybe it’ll come in useful, though. Gad, I hope this fellow was alone!” he added.