Gatineau had spun round at the sound of the shot. His attention for a fateful second was torn between the window, Gunning, and the woman. And Gunning hit him.
Gunning, unsteady, but still powerful, fell forward across the narrow gap between him and the unready detective. A great arm flailed, and his fist took the little man behind the ear. As Gatineau fell, Gunning fell on top of him, smothering him. Clement acted swiftly. He could not shoot because of Gatineau underneath. With a lightning gesture, he transferred his pistol to his right hand again, and grabbed at a chair. He made a stride forward.
“Drop it!” snapped a voice. “Drop that chair!”
A slim man was at the window. A slim man with one arm in a sling, but whose dark eye shone with steady purpose behind the sights of an automatic pistol.
Clement dropped the chair.
There was a movement by the door. The light from it was darkened by some huge and bulky figure. Clement turned his head. Smiling, without the slightest vestige of emotion, and looking steadily not into his eyes, but over Clement’s shoulder, the mountainous Mr. Neuburg came into the shack.
VI
Whatever Mr. Neuburg felt he hid it with the cold, enigmatic mirthlessness of his smile. But Clement knew that the great brute must be at a loss. Obviously, he appreciated the fact that if his opponent was here and not in Montreal, he must know far too much about Arthur Newman and his doings.
Clement realized this and meant to make the most of it. He must play for time. The three men in the canoe must have a chance to get to them, for, of course, they would have heard the pistol shot.