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Updated: June 27, 2025
Maitland and the detective were battered against the side and back of the vehicle and slammed against one another with painful regularity. Under such circumstances speech was difficult; yet they managed to exchange a few sentences. "Yeh gottuh gun?" "Anisty's two good cartridges." "Jus' as well I'm along, I guess." And again: "How'd yeh s'pose Anisty got this cab?"
Of which fact the weight in his pocket was assurance. Maitland.... Anisty's thoughts verged off upon an interesting tangent. What was Maitland's motive in arranging this meeting? It was self-evident that the twain were of one world the girl and the man of fashion.
The detective's second bullet winged through the doorway, over Anisty's head, and bit through the outer window. As Anisty, with a tremendous strain upon his failing powers, struggled to his feet, Maitland, catching the murderous gleam in the man's eye, pulled trigger. The burglar's answering shot expended itself as harmlessly as Maitland's. Both went wide of their marks.
His peace of mind was nothing that they could turn into cash; and they seemed to have reaved him of nothing else. But they had that; unquestionably they had taken that. And still the riddle haunted him: Why had she come back that night? And, whatever her reason, had she come in Anisty's company, or alone?
As for his head, it was threatening to split at any moment, the tight wires twanging infernally between his temples; while the corners of his mouth were cracked and sore from the pressure of the gag. All of which totted up a considerable debit against Mr. Anisty's account.
The criminal replied with spirit, aiming at the flash, his bullet spattering against the back wall of the shaft. Hickey's next bullet rang with a bell-like note against the metal-work, Anisty's presumably went wide though Maitland could have sworn he felt the cold kiss of its breath upon his cheek. And the lighted cage rocketed past and up.
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