instant, and it would mean death to the invader.
Luck was with the enemy. Chance had given him his opportunity to shoot John Hendrix. Again, the wiles
of fate were to serve him well in this fight with Jermyn.
The brawlers crashed against the wall. The light switch was beside them. Martin Powell could not see the
invader's face, for Jermyn was crushing him toward the wall. But the investigator did see that free left
hand as it encountered the switch.
Click!
The room was in total darkness as the invader saw his opportunity. It was a struggle in the dark. Powell
could not distinguish Jermyn from his foe.
The men crashed across the room at an angle. They were away from the wall. Powell dashed toward the
light switch. His hand fumbled in the dark. Try as desperately as he could, the switch evaded him.
Meanwhile the men were struggling, rolling on the floor. Harsh, fierce cries came from the fighters. In the
midst of long, weird seconds, Powell's fingers touched the metal switch. Before he could press it, a
muffled shot came from the center of the room.
On went the light. Powell looked. Jermyn was sprawled upon the floor. Crouched beside him was the
panting enemy. The man looked up, a menacing glance in his eye.
Powell saw his face and uttered a sudden cry as he recognized the killer. The investigator aimed his
automatic. The other man swung his revolver desperately and made a forward dive.
Powell's shot was a trifle high. It seared the killer's shoulder. Again, the investigator's finger was pressing
the trigger. Then the revolver spoke in reply.
The invader's shot was hasty, but effective. Powell staggered. He caught himself and fired twice, but his
shots were wild. Then his enemy, with calm deliberation, pressed the trigger of the revolver, and a
second bullet reached the investigator's body. Martin Powell slumped to the floor.
STAGGERING forward, the killer reached the wall and extinguished the light. He leaned there, breathing
heavily. The darkness seemed to give him renewed courage.
He moved slowly across the room, and a flashlight glimmered in his hand. He threw its rays upon the
desk, and uttered a muffled laugh. The edge of the light showed the form of John Hendrix lying face
downward. The financier was dead.
Turning, the murderer threw a beam upon Martin Powell. The investigator lay motionless. He, too,
appeared dead. The killer went to the third victim. Jermyn was alive, groaning monotonously. His eyes
were closed. The slayer listened. The groaning stopped.
Now came a disturbing sound that attracted the murderer's attention. It was the clicking of the telephone
receiver. The killer listened intently. He realized that the shots must have been heard by the central
operator. That meant that help might already be on the way!
The beams of the flashlight showed the killer's right hand with its menacing weapon. Beyond the revolver
was the face of Jermyn.
The man's eyes opened. They saw the hand in front of the light. The killer, listening, was not watching
Jermyn. Up came Jermyn's hands. With a wild, renewed frenzy, he grasped the revolver and tried to
wrest it from the hand that held it.
The struggle was on again. Dropping his light, the maddened murderer tried to beat Jermyn's hand from
