Shirley, never so
acute, cudgeled his mind for some devise by which he might
overcame the other. It was hopeless. At last, just as he knew
the inevitable second was almost completed, a faint rustling came
from the other side of the iron door. Warren's face brightened
with hope. With a nerve-racking rasp, the iron bar on the other
side was raised: it was a torturing delay as the two waited!
The door slowly opened. After a harrowing pause a revolver
muzzle slid gently through the crack, and a woman's voice
murmured softly: "Drop the gun!"
It was Helene Marigold!
Warren's ashen face changed to purple hue, his hand trembled just
enough to incite Shirley to a desperate chance. As the criminal
drew the trigger with a spasmodic jerk, Shirley was dropping to
the floor, whence he pushed himself forward with a froglike leap,
as he straightened out the great muscles.
Together they rolled in a frenzied struggle.
"Run back, Helene. The clock will explode!" cried Shirley,
desperately.
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