Harper said, “You can turn around if you want to.”
Wyman turned slowly. His eyes were like ice and his jaws were white at the corners. But it was evident, from the calm way he reached into his pocket for a cigarette and lighted it, that he had been trained in emergencies. “Now what?” he said, and smoke came out with the words.
Harper smiled with his lips only, and the lips were thin. “Let's go upstairs,” he said. “Galpin's bringing a dozen men to keep anyone from getting out.” He motioned with the guns in each hand. “Come on. Let's try the elevator.”
CHAPTER V. THE ROOF.
LIGHT from the elevator shot pale-yellow into the corridor on the ninth floor that revealed an electric switch and a half-dozen doors on each side of the hall before it was lost in the shadows. Walt Harper motioned the two men ahead of him, stepped out on the concrete floor and pushed the light switch.
The three men walked through stale, musty air to the end of the hall where a narrow, barred window looked out into the night. They turned sharp left here and climbed steep stairs that cut back and up toward a narrow steel door.
Harper jammed his .38 in Wyman's back. “Knock,” he said. “And don't let your tongue slip when they open up.”
Wyman knocked, waited, knocked again. There was a scratching noise on the door. A circular slide moved from a peephole and a three-inch shaft of light focused on Wyman's face.
“All right, Joe,” he said hoarsely. “Open up.”
The short man stepped into a thickly-carpeted, well-lighted hall. Harper crowded forward behind Wyman. When he passed the thin man who had opened the door, he whipped out with the automatic in his left hand. The barrel crashed behind the man's ear and he dropped with a groan.
The hall was long; on each side were four gray doors, spaced equidistant and locked by a sliding bolt on the outside. At the far end of the hall could be seen a richly furnished room.
Keeping Wyman and his bodyguard ahead of him, Harper moved to the first door on the right. He whispered a command to halt. His dark skin seemed pale now and his lips were tight. The two men stopped. He reached out and slid the bolt to the door, threw it open.
The room was in absolute darkness, and for a moment there was no sound or movement. Then, from somewhere in those shadows, came a throaty cackle, followed by a rapid string of high-pitched gibberish. A skinny, chalk-faced, gray-haired man who was naked except for his underwear came catapulting headlong through the doorway. He bounced off Harper, threw him back against the wall, started for the door to the ninth floor.
Wyman shouted. He and the short man threw themselves flat on the floor. A loud
Harper spun toward the sound. A faint blue haze hung around a rifle barrel that was thrust through a slit above the arch leading to the front room. The rifleman made the hall an avenue of death.
The rifle cracked again. A slug tore through Harper's fingers, jerking the gun from his left hand as he fired twice, rapidly, with the one in his right. For just a moment did he hesitate. Then he dove through the doorway into the darkened room, slammed the door after him.
He shifted his gun to his left hand which, though bleeding, still had most of its strength. With his right hand, he fished a small flashlight from his vest pocket, snapped it on and wiped sudden sweat from his gray face with the back of his hand.
THE room was small with bare, gray walls. There was a bed, a dresser, and one chair. Overhead was a square, barred skylight, steel- shuttered from the roof. There was a light in the ceiling and a switch on the wall; Harper pressed it without results.
He stuck the gun in his hip pocket and dragged the dresser over to the door, which had no lock on the inside. He pulled the bed to the dresser, upended it so that it tipped against the door. He went back to the far corner and crouched on the floor.
He had not long to wait. In less than three minutes the steel door began to bounce against the dresser and the bed as weight was thrown behind it. Seconds later there was a two-inch crack through which light streamed in a yellow ribbon. Harper waited until the crack widened slightly, then sent two slugs through the opening. Silence followed this. The assault on the door ceased.
Harper waited on; waited until there was a movement overhead. Metal scraped. The steel coop which covered the skylight was withdrawn. There was no glass in the skylight. A dark blotch appeared in the opening. Harper fired twice. A curse rang out followed by the low mumble of voices.
Almost immediately something dropped to the floor of the room and exploded with a
Harper went back to the corner, gasping for breath. He drew the sheet across his nose and mouth, but he could not stop the coughing. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his face, blinding him.
A minute later and the door of the room began to beat against the barricade. Harper fired once, wildly. The pounding continued until the door was open halfway.
A voice said, “Throw that gun out!”
Harper uttered a choking curse, fired his last shot, and threw the gun in the direction of the door. He slipped his right hand to his vest, removed the metal pencil and shoved it up his sleeve so that no bulge revealed its location.
WYMAN took the cigar from his mouth. “Tear gas is great stuff. That evens us up for this morning.” He waved a manicured hand. “How do you like the layout?”
Walt Harper, his wrists handcuffed behind him, looked around the spacious front room, then back at
