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Smooth-shaven cheeks, close-cropped hair, wing-like ears, and a little round head were details of a figure that might have been heroic for his jaw was square, his nose large, and his forehead straight and broad. Everyone knew he was going out to throw the policeman, Laddam, into the street. The policeman had not hurt business a pennyworth as yet, but Palura felt the insult.
This would teach the policemen of Mendova to mind their own business! Suddenly Policeman Laddam threw his night stick backhanded at the infamous scoundrel, and Palura dodged, but not quite quickly nor quite far enough. The club whacked noisily against his right elbow and Palura uttered a cry of pain as one pistol fell to the floor.
She went to the exclusive "Third," and from there emerged onto the dancing floor just as Palura ostentatiously went forth to drive Laddam away, or to kill him. Daisy checked her, for the minute or two of suspense, and then the whole scene, the tragedy, was enacted before her gaze.
Palura knew the consequences of failing to meet the challenge. "Give 'im hell!" someone called. Palura turned and nodded, and a little yelping cheer went up, which ceased instantly. Terabon, observing details, saw that Palura's coat sagged on the near side in the shape of an automatic pistol. He saw, too, that the man's left sleeve sagged round and hard a slingshot or black-jack.
There was no delay; Palura went straight through to his purpose. He disappeared in the dark and narrow entrance way and not a sound was audible except the scuffling of feet. "Palura's killed four men," the cotton broker whispered to Terabon, under his breath. What seemed an age passed. The lights flickered. Terabon looked about in alarm lest that gang
But when Terabon searched along the slough for Nelia's boat he did not find it, and to his amazed anger he found that the gasolene boat in which he had arrived was also gone, as well as his own skiff and all his outfit. "Darn this river!" he choked. "But that's a great story I sent of the killing of Palura!"
"We 'lowed we'd stop into Mendova. You stop in there an' see Palura; he'll treat you right. He was in the riveh hisse'f once. You talk to him " "What did Terabon and Mr. Carline go on in? What kind of a boat?" "A gasolene cruiser." "Did he say where he'd be?" "Terabon? No. Ask into Mendova or into Memphis. They can likely tell." "Thank you, boys!
"Yes, and they scattered with my skiff, too, and probably robbed Carline of his boat " "Carline! You know him?" "I came down with him from Yankee Bar, and we went up to Palura's together. I lost him in the shuffle, when the big cop killed Palura." "And Mrs. Carline, Nelia Crele?" Rasba demanded. "Why I they said she'd landed in. She's gone, too " "You know her?" "Why, yes I "
The silent throng around the walls stared at the scene from the partial shadows; no one seemed even to be breathing. Then Palura made a horrible gulping sound, and writhed as he gave up his last gasp of life. "Now then!" Laddam looked about him, and his voice was the low roar of a man at his kill. "You men pick them up, pack them outside there, and up to headquarters. March!"
His first bullet drove Palura straight up, erect; his next carried the bully back three steps; his next whirled him around in a sagging spiral, and the fourth dropped the dive keeper like a bag of loose potatoes. Laddam looked around curiously. He had never been there before. Lined up on all sides of him were the waiters, bouncers, men of prey, their faces ghastly, and three or four of them sick.
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