t.

Savaroff's face flushed purple, and with a fierce oath he gripped the
back of a chair and swung it up over his head. The doctor stopped him
with a gesture of his hand. As for von Bruenig, he stood where he
was, staring from one to the other of us in angry bewilderment. He
evidently hadn't the remotest notion what I was talking about.

McMurtrie was the first to speak. "Yes," he said, in his coolest,
silkiest voice. "I did kill Marks. He was the last person who betrayed
me. I rather think you will envy him before I have finished with you,
Mr. Lyndon."

"A thousand devils!" cried von Bruenig furiously: "what does all this
nonsense mean? We may have the police here any moment. Knock him on
the head, the fool, and--"

"Stop!"

The single word cut in with startling clearness. We all spun round in
the direction of the sound, and there, standing in the window just
between the two curtains, was the solitary figure of Mr. Bruce
Latimer. He was accompanied by a Mauser pistol which flickered
thoughtfully over the four of us.

"Keep still," he drawled--"quite still, please. I shall shoot the
first man who moves."

There was a moment of rather trenchant silence. Then von Bruenig
moistened his lips with his tongue.

"Are you mad, sir?" he began hoarsely. "By what--"

With a lightning-like movement McMurtrie slipped his right hand into
his side pocket, and as he did so Latimer instantly levelled his
pistol. The two shots rang out simultaneously, but except for a cry
and a crash of broken glass I knew nothing of what had happened. In
one stride I had flung myself on Savaroff, and just as he drew his
revolver I let him have it fair and square on the jaw. Dropping his
weapon, he reeled backwards into von Bruenig, and the pair of them went
to the floor with a thud that shook the building. Almost at the same
moment both the door and the window burst violently open, and two men
came charging into the room.

The first of the intruders was Tommy Morrison. I recognized him just
as I was making an instinctive dive for Savaroff's revolver, under the
unpleasant impression that Hoffman and the other German had returned
from the post-office. You can imagine the delight with which I
scrambled up again, clutching that useful if rather belated weapon in
my hand.

One glance round showed me everything there was to see.

Face downwards in a little pool of blood lay the motionless figure
of McMurtrie. Savaroff also was still--his hug