He was on the threshold; only the door
concealed him from Kerry, and concealed Kerry from the new-comer.
The disc of light cast into the dirty room grew smaller. The man with
the torch was entering. A hand which grasped a magazine pistol
appeared beyond the edge of the door, and Kerry's period of inactivity
came to an end. Leaning back he adroitly kicked the weapon from the
hand of the man who held it!
There was a smothered cry of pain, and the pistol fell clattering on
the floor. The light went out, too. As it vanished Kerry leapt from
his hiding-place. Snapping on the light of his own pocket lamp, he ran
out into the passage.
Crack! came the report of a pistol.
Kerry dropped flat on the floor. He had not counted on the intruder
being armed with two pistols! His pocket lamp, still alight, fell
beside him, and he lay in a curiously rigid attitude on his side, one
knee drawn up and his arm thrown across his face.
Carefully avoiding the path of light cast by the fallen torch, the
unseen stranger approached silently. Pistol in hand, he bent, nearer
and nearer, striving to see the face of the prostrate man. Kerry lay
deathly still. The other dropped on one knee and bent closely over
him. . . .
Swiftly as a lash Kerry's arm was whipped around the man's neck, and
helpless he pitched over on to his head! Uttering a dull groan, he lay
heavy and still across Kerry's body.
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