, he would have realized there was no way of escape. Even a
fool would have realized that there was no way of getting out of a plane
which was flying at ten thousand feet, and coming down alive, unless one
had a chute. So it was sheer berserk anger which prompted the attack.

Griffin's right elbow shot up and sideways, and landed with telling
force against Jenkins' jaw. At almost the same instant, he slipped loose
of his safety belt, whirled on his companion and struck him two savage
blows with his fists. Those blows stunned the detective. And like a
snake in movement, Griffin's hand reached for the pistol in Jenkins'
holster and drew it.

Dazed as Jenkins was, he tried to stop Griffin. The barrel of the gun
slashed a furrow in his cheek for the try. The blow rocked the
detective's head back, and allowed him to get out of his seat. In an
instant he was in the aisle, leaping for the pilot's compartment. He had
no plan; he wasn't even thinking. In the background of his mind he knew
the panic he had created; he could see it reflected in the face of the
woman in the front seat, in the wide, suddenly terror-stricken eyes of
the man at her side. But what he was going to do when he reached the
closed door that was his goal, he did not know.

There were screams and hoarse commands. From the rear, the stewardess
shouted for him not to go beyond the door. Griffin reached it, whirled
and faced the length of the plane, a snarl on his lips, and the .38 in
his hand, a small-barreled threat of death to whoever was fool enough to
attempt to stop him.

And there was one who was going to be a fool.

* * * * *

Whether Jenkins was just dazed by the last blow, or whether he really
thought he could stop the other, is a matter of conjecture. But he rose
to his feet and started forward in a stumbling run.

"Come on, copper," Griffin grunted, a terrible smile of anticipation on
his lips. "I been wantin' to knock you off."

Everyone on the plane froze in horror as the gun muzzle came up. The
finger on the trigger tightened in a sort of slow-motion action until it
seemed as if the smallest pressure would set it off. And still Jenkins
stumbled forward, until only a couple of feet separated the two. Then
the grin became a snarl on Griffin's lips, and all knew the instant of
death had arrived.

Jenkins must have felt it also, for he took the last few steps in a
shambling, wide-armed leap, as if he were welco