It was the movement of men who know that death is
lurking at every turn. Nor could they tell whence it was most likely
to come. It was a moment of tense and straining nerves wherein the wit
of one man had discounted the elaborate plan to murder of those whose
indifference to death only shrank from the contemplation of their own.
Jeff's eyes strained against the darkness. The windows stood out in
silhouette. From these he had no fear. He knew, and he knew that
these ruffians would know, the dangers attending themselves from any
attack upon him from such a direction. The advantage would be entirely
his, since he had possessed himself of Sikkem's complete arsenal. He
knew it was for him to await the fire of these men, every shot of which
would yield him a sure target.
A flash broke the blackness ahead of him. The bullet sank into the
woodwork just above his head with a vicious splash. But he refrained
from reply. Another crack split the silence, and the wall to the left
of him flung back its response. Still he offered no reply.
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