The heavy pistol roared again and a bullet hurled splinters of glass into my cheek, but I found the latch and worked it.
I kicked the door back and fired once straight ahead at random. Something moved in the dark hallway then and without waiting to see what it was I fired again, and when something fell I fired at the sound.
A voice said: “Cut it out. That’s enough. I’ve lost my gun.”
It wasn’t Chappell’s voice. I was disappointed.
Near the foot of the stairs I found a light-switch and turned it on. Dick Moley was sitting on the floor at the other end of the hallway holding one leg.
“That damned fool maid got scared and locked this door,” he complained, “or I’d’ve made it out back.”
I went nearer and picked up his gun. “Get you anywhere but the leg?” I asked.
“No. I’d’ve been all right if I hadn’t dropped the gun when it upset me.”
“You’ve got a lot of ifs,” I said. “I’ll give you another one. You’ve got nothing to worry about but that bullet-hole if you didn’t kill Chappell.”
He laughed. “If he’s not dead he must feel funny with those two .44s in his head.”
“That was ⸻ damned dumb of you,” I growled.
He didn’t believe me. He said: “It was the best job I ever pulled.”
“Yeah? Well, suppose I told you that I was only waiting for another move of his to pinch him for killing his wife?”
He opened his eyes at that.