The man was still in darkness, keeping well away so his face could not be seen. That gave Hendrix the
cue. He doubted that the man would dare to fire. The financier gained sudden boldness. He spoke
deliberately.
“Legira,” he said. “Legira, or whoever you are, it will do you no good to threaten. We outnumber you
three to one. A shot here will spread the alarm. Murder will not help you. Put away that gun and leave
this place.”
From the corner of his eye, Hendrix noted that Jermyn was edging toward the door. The quiet words that
the financier had uttered had changed Jermyn's fear to loyalty. It was obvious what Jermyn intended. He
was ready to attack to save his master. If Jermyn could divert attention, all would be well.
Hendrix saw Jermyn's gaze turn in his direction. The financier nodded, almost imperceptibly. At the same
moment, his hand tightened on the receiver of the telephone. Jermyn trembled as though restrained by a
leash. With sudden boldness, Hendrix started to lift the receiver from the hook.
Events followed with confused rapidity. John Hendrix had not placed false reliance in his faithful servant.
Like a wild man, Jermyn sprang toward the door, throwing his body between the revolver and his
master.
Martin Powell was on his feet, leaping toward the wall close by the door, where a little alcove offered
momentary shelter. The investigator was pulling a short automatic from his pocket even as he moved.
With the telephone in his hand, Hendrix was diving for safety, the long wire stringing after him as his
portly body swung around the edge of the desk. A few feet would mean safety from wild shots.
THE attack had been a swift one—its speed sufficient to startle the invader. Each of the three men had
followed his own dictates. A prearranged plan could not have been more effectively executed.
Jermyn was the attacker. Powell was planning to aid him. Hendrix, intent upon making the warning call,
was choosing the nearest point of safety.
The keenest thought of this swift action was Jermyn's bold deed of thrusting himself between the invader
and Hendrix. Instinctively, Jermyn knew that the financier would be the first intended victim.
In this he was right. The foeman was ready to kill; but he was anxious to stop Hendrix from phoning, no
matter what the cost might be. Yet he could not shoot Hendrix without first disposing of Jermyn.
Had Hendrix remained at the desk, the enemy might have been thwarted. It was the financier's instinctive
action of leaping for safety that caused his own undoing.
Jermyn was some six feet from his enemy. He was covering the chair in which Hendrix sat. But when the
portly financier sprang away from that spot, he automatically removed himself from the coverage which
Jermyn was affording.
The man in the hallway saw the bulky form. He swung his revolver away from Jermyn. He fired twice at
the moving target. Hendrix, at the edge of the desk, plunged headlong. The telephone shot from his grasp
and struck the wall.
Now Jermyn was grappling with the enemy. The sound of those shots had maddened the faithful
employee. He was fighting with terrific frenzy, grappling for the revolver, seeking to dominate the man
who had shot his master.
Into the room staggered the pair, Jermyn's left hand holding the other man's right wrist so the revolver
pointed upward. Martin Powell, grim-faced, was watching his chance. Let those strugglers break for an
