Following it, Rupert hurled himself forward with one great spring,
but agile as a cat that leaps away from the mastiff's teeth, Deede
Dawson slipped from his grasp to the other side of the room. In
doing so he knocked his arm against the corner of the packing-case,
so that his revolver fell to the ground.
With a shout Rupert stooped and seized it, and straightened himself
to see that Deede Dawson had already another revolver in his hand
--a second one that he had drawn from an inner pocket.
They remained very still, watching each other intently, neither
eager to fire, since both wished first to make the other speak. For
Rupert desired very greatly that Deede Dawson should tell him where
Ella was, and Deede Dawson needed that Rupert should explain what
had gone wrong, and how imminent and great was the danger that
therefore most likely threatened him.
Each knew, too, that the slightest movement he made would set the
other shooting, and each realized that in that close and narrow
space any exchange of shots must almost of necessity mean the death
of both, since both were cool and deadly marksmen, well accustomed
to the use of the revolver.
Deede Dawson was the first to speak.
"Well, what next?" he said. "If that inkpot of yours had hit me it
would pretty well have knocked my brains out, and if I hadn't hit
my elbow against the corner of the packing-case I would have had you
shot through with holes like a sieve by now.
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