It seemed as though his breath were as stertorous as that
breathing from above, and that the Wolf must hear.
And then the Wolf laughed low again.
There was a curious crackling noise, as of paper being torn--and then,
quick, in the doorway, came a yellow flame, and the Wolf's hand showed
from around the edge of the jamb, and, making momentary daylight of the
room, a flaming piece of paper, tossed in, fell upon the floor.
There was a flash, the roar of the report--and another--as the Wolf
fired! There was the sullen _spat_ of a bullet upon the panelling an
inch from Jimmie Dale's head--and a sharp and sudden pain, as though a
hot iron had seared his leg.
And now Jimmie Dale's automatic, too, cut flashes with its vicious
flame-tongues through the black. Coolly, steadily, he was firing at the
doorway--to hold the Wolf there--to keep the Wolf now in the position of
the Wolf's own choosing. The paper was but a dull cinder in the centre
of the room; twisted too tightly, it had gone out almost immediately.
There came screams, loud, terrified, in a woman's voice from the floor
above--and the hoarser tones of a man shouting. A window was flung open.
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