ation of that one first moment when
they would writhe back from him, and see in him the presence of death. He
would give them that one moment of life--just that one. Then he would kill.

With his pistol ready in his hand he stepped out into the lighted room.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" he said.

CHAPTER XIII

For a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John Aldous announced himself
there was no visible sign of life on the part of either Quade or Culver
Rann. The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a finger broke the
stonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyes were like two dark coals
gazing steadily as a serpent's over Quade's hunched shoulders and bowed
head. Quade seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. One hand
was still poised a foot above the table. It was he who broke the tense and
lifeless tableau.

Slowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned his
head, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he had
plotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious look
overcame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror--but of shock. He
knew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, the
significance of the pistol in his hand. But Culver Rann sat like a rock.
His face expressed nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had he
betrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. In spite of
himself Aldous admired the man's unflinching nerve.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" he repeated.

Then Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One hand rose to his
moustache. It was his right hand. The other was invisible. Quade pulled
himself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty hands
in front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann's glittering eyes and
covered him with his automatic. Culver Rann twisted the end of his
moustache, and smiled back.

"Well?" he said. "Is it checkmate?"

"It is," replied Aldous. "I've promised you scoundrels one minute of life.
I guess that minute is about up."

The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was in
darkness--a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his hand
faltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and the
falling of a body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire where
Culver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through the
blackness where Quade had stood. He knew