As expected, Henry Gunning stumbled back at the mere threat of the law. Terror shone in his face.
Clement followed up his advantage. “We’re here for you, Henry Gunning. We know all about you and this plot against Heloise Reys. We know how you lured her out here, how you want to get hold of her and her million of money.”
“Lies! Lies!” cried Henry Gunning. “You don’t bluff me.”
“Then you lied when you bragged at Cobalt, my friend,” snapped Clement. “Do you want me to tell you all that you bragged of in the billiard parlor of Cobalt?” Henry Gunning shrank back against the bed. “I see you are recognizing we know. Well, understand fully that we’ve got all the evidence against you. The story of those silver mines, the details of how Joe Wandersun pretended to act as a bona fide agent, the way Méduse Smythe became the companion of Heloise Reys, the meaning of Adolf Neuburg behind it all. We know the whole foul plot, the love making, the robbing of that girl, with the aid of Landor at Revelstoke—her murder.”
“Murder!” said Gunning in a sharp voice.
“The murder at the hands of Neuburg, or Newman, or Nachbar.”
“That’s a lie!” snarled Henry Gunning. “There isn’t a murder in it. That’s a lie; that isn’t in it.”
“It is in it.”
“Murder. The same sort of murder as Nachbar did in Oregon.”
There was a sudden movement from the corner. The woman moaned and fell against the wall. She had swooned—apparently. Only apparently.—As her body reached the floor her hands moved swiftly. Something flashed and spat. Clement had taken a step towards her. It saved his life. The bullet from a tiny pistol struck him in the fleshy part of the right forearm. He gasped in pain, staggered. Immediately things happened.