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Having told how Amaryllis had fainted at the sight of Ockley with the knife-point protruding from the back of his neck, he extracted the Webley from his overcrowded pocket. "That," he said, "is the man's gun, which Miss Caldegard found for me." Later, he produced Mut-mut's baag-nouk, laying it, talons upward, beside the Webley. "That was strapped to his hand.
For with these thoughts of the evil Melchard came sudden insight into the man's purpose at the foot of the Bull's Neck, and his probable action at the present moment. "He was shooting to drive us into Mut-mut's arms, and to make us believe our danger was all behind us," he reasoned. "And it's a white elephant to a dead rat he's trudging up this road now to find what Mut-mut's left of us.
His left ribs were pressed against Dick's knees, his right hand tearing at and ripping the cloth and leather of the car's side-linings as he struggled to rise. What was fastened in that right hand Dick had seen, and with Ockley's last bullet he blew out Mut-mut's brains.
From Mut-mut's revolver Dick sent a bullet which threw up the dust at Melchard's feet. "Two inches to the right of your feet." He fired again. Again the little puff of dust. "An inch and a half to the left of your feet," he sang out cheerfully. "The next'll be half-way between and three feet higher. Put down your gun." Melchard produced his automatic and dropped it. "Kick it away from you."
But from the preparations of Dick Bellamy dignity was altogether absent. From the dirty cloth he unwrapped Mut-mut's baag-nouk, slipped his right hand into its straps and rings, and sank to his knees on the floor of the carriage, facing the door and its open, unblinded window.
On a second effort the slight yielding of the mass was accompanied by a sound of rending and he remembered Mut-mut's right hand, armed with a weapon of unspeakable cruelty, which only once before in his life had he seen the Mahratta baag-nouk, or Tiger's Claw.
Melchard lay back exhausted in the near-side corner, examining with dull eyes the havoc made by Mut-mut's claw. "Drink that," said Dick. Melchard shook his head. "I hate spirits," he objected feebly. "That's his stuff Mut-mut's." "You'll hate it worse soon," was all the answer he got; and drank, gasping between gulps.
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