Rex groped for the pistol on the floor. “I’ll reload it for you,” he said quickly, slipping out the magazine.
“Thanks. A bit quieter, isn’t it? I don’t like it,” said De Richleau suddenly. “They’re up to some mischief.”
“I should worry,” Rex laughed. “Keep clear of that garden window and we’ll be O.K.; they can’t rush us except from the roof or the stairs — and they’d just hate to try either.”
“Yes, we’re safe for the time being, I suppose — if only poor Simon were still with us,” the Duke groaned.
“Maybe he’s only been winged, like you. Anyhow, we’ve knocked the guts out of this racket already, or I’m mistaken. How many do you reckon there were to start with?”
“Twelve, perhaps.”
“Right. Well, there was the big boob who tried to stop you coming through the roof — that’s one. The two bums I outed on my first visit makes three; then the chap with a head like an egg-shell who found the butt of my automatic — that’s four.”
“Simon shot one from the landing window.”
“Yep, that’s five.”
“There was the man I shot from the corner of the wall — I saw him drop,” added De Richleau.