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224 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1961
I finished my drink and got up. The heavy library door opened outwards into the passage and Royale, gun in hand, stood to one side to let me pass through first. He should have known better. Or maybe my limp deceived him. People thought my limp slowed me up, but people were wrong.
Valentino had disappeared. I went through the doorway, slowed up and moved to one side round the edge of the door as if I were waiting for Royale to catch up and show me where to go, then whirled round and smashed the sole of my right foot against the door with all the speed and power I could muster.
Royale got nailed neatly between door and jamb. Had it been his head that was caught it would have been curtains. As it was, it caught his shoulders, but even so it was enough to make him grunt in agony and send the gun spinning out of his hand to fall a couple of yards down the passage. I dived for it. I scooped it up by the barrel, swung round, still crouched, as I heard the quick step behind me. The butt of the automatic caught the diving Royale somewhere on the face, I couldn’t be sure where, but it sounded like a four-pound axe sinking into the bole of a pine. It took only a couple of seconds to push him off and change my grip to the butt of the pistol, but two seconds would always be enough and more than enough for a man like Jablonsky.
‘Alright, Royale.’ I said without turning my head. ‘You can put your gun away. The show’s over.’
But the show wasn’t over. A hard voice said: ‘Go pick up that gun, Talbot. And the clip. Put the clip in the gun and give it back to Larry.’
I turned round slowly. Vyland had a gun in his hand and I didn’t care very much for the whiteness of the knuckle of the trigger finger. …
‘How would you like to go up top and take a walk over the side?’ I asked.
‘I’ll give you to the count of five.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then I’ll shoot.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ I said contemptuously. ‘You’re not the type to pull triggers, Vyland. That’s why you employ this big hatchet-man here. Besides, who would fix up the bathyscaphe then?’
‘I’m counting, Talbot.’ As far as I was concerned he’d gone nuts. ‘ One … two–‘
‘O.K., O.K.,’ I interrupted, ‘so you can count. You’re a swell counter. I bet you can even count up to ten …’