Those documents and that blackjack are here in this place, and
the Secret Service men know where to find them." Jimmie Dale's watch was
in his hand. "It's five minutes to twelve. They'll be here at midnight.
I've got to make my getaway before they come. I need two minutes for
that, including locking you in so that _you_ can't get away. That leaves
you three minutes to make up your mind. If you answer, you can have
whatever chance your lawyers can get you; if you refuse, you and I
settle our score before I leave. It's three minutes against a possible
commutation of sentence to life imprisonment. _Where is Marre?_"
The misshapen, shrunken thing was rocking on its feet. There was
no answer.
"There are two minutes left," said Jimmie Dale in a monotone.
The man's eyes, coal black, hunted, the pupils gone, swept the room.
His lips were working; his hands, clenching and unclenching, clawed at
the table.
"_One!_" said Jimmie Dale.
There was a scream of ungovernable fury, the crash of the toppling
table, and, reaching out with both hands for Jimmie Dale's weapon,
Hunchback Joe hurled himself forward--but quick as the other was, Jimmie
Dale was quicker, and with his left hand, palm open, pushed full into
the man's face, he flung the other back.
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