Louis appeared apathetic both as to the pistols and the good advice.
“Leave him both,” Kreisler called, his revolver still trained on Staretsky and Soltyk.
Bitzenko put them both down, a foot away from Soltyk, and walked hurriedly out of the zone of fire.
“Will you take up one of those pistols, or both?” Kreisler said.
“Kindly point that revolver somewhere else, and allow us to go!” Staretsky said loudly.
“I’m not speaking to you, pig-face! It’s you I’m addressing. Take up that pistol!”
He was now five or six yards from them.
“Herr Soltyk is unarmed! The pistols you want him to take only have one charge. Yours has twelve. In any case it would be murder!”
Kreisler walked up to them. He was very white, much quieter, and acted with effort. He stooped down to take up one of the pistols. Staretsky aimed a blow at his head. It caught him just in front of the ear, on the right cheek-bone. He staggered sideways, tripped, and fell. The moment he felt the blow he pulled the trigger of the Browning, which still pointed towards his principal adversary. Soltyk threw his arms up: Kreisler was struggling towards his feet: he fell face forwards on top of him.