Slowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned his head, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he had plotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand.  A curious look overcame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror—­but of shock.  He knew Aldous had heard.  He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, the significance of the pistol in his hand.  But Culver Rann sat like a rock.  His face expressed nothing.  Not for the smallest part of a second had he betrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him.  In spite of himself Aldous admired the man’s unflinching nerve.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” he repeated.

Then Rann leaned slowly forward over the table.  One hand rose to his moustache.  It was his right hand.  The other was invisible.  Quade pulled himself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty hands in front of him.  Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann’s glittering eyes and covered him with his automatic.  Culver Rann twisted the end of his moustache, and smiled back.

“Well?” he said.  “Is it checkmate?”

“It is,” replied Aldous.  “I’ve promised you scoundrels one minute of life.  I guess that minute is about up.”

The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was in darkness—­a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his hand faltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and the falling of a body.  Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire where Culver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through the blackness where Quade had stood.  He knew what had happened, and also what to expect if he lost out now.  The curiously shaped iron lamp had concealed an electric bulb, and Rann had turned off the switch-key under the table.  He had no further time to think.  An object came hurtling through the thick gloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol arm.  His automatic flew from his hand and struck against the wall.  Unarmed, he sprang back toward the open door—­full into the arms of Quade!

Aldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, and he struck out with all the force he could gather in a short-arm blow.  His fist landed against Quade’s thick neck.  Again and again he struck, and Quade’s grip loosened.  In another moment he would have reached the door if Rann had not caught him from behind.  Never had Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of the womanish hands of Culver Rann.  It was as if sinuous fingers of steel were burying themselves in his flesh.  Before they found his throat he flung himself backward with all his weight, and with a tremendous effort freed himself.

Both Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him and the door.  He could hear Quade’s deep, panting breath.  Rann, as before, was silent as death.  Then he heard the door close.  A key clicked in the lock.  He was trapped.