Part 21 (1/2)

”Haven't you a lamp?” Durham asked. ”I cannot see what I am eating.”

”Make the fire up--that's good enough for me,” Dudgeon replied without raising his head.

On the shelf over the fire-place Durham had noticed a kerosene lamp, a cheap, rickety article with a clear-gla.s.s bowl half-full of oil. He rose from the stool, reached for the lamp, put it on the table and lit it.

”Here, that oil costs money,” Dudgeon snarled as he looked round. ”Half a crown won't cover luxuries--you'll pa.s.s over another bob if you're going to waste my oil.”

Durham resumed his seat without heeding.

”Do you hear?” Dudgeon exclaimed. ”If you ain't going to pay, you ain't going----”

He stood up as he spoke, stood up and took a step towards the table with one hand outstretched to lift away the lamp.

Durham, looking round as he moved, saw his eyes suddenly open wide and stare fixedly at the door.

At the same moment a voice rang through the room.

”Hands up, or you're dead men!”

Springing to his feet Durham faced towards the door.

Standing in it were two figures, one the yellow-bearded man he had seen at Waroona Downs, the other a man of slighter build whose face was entirely concealed by a handkerchief hanging from under his hat and gathered in at the throat, with two holes burned for the eyes. Each man held a revolver, the masked man covering Durham, the bearded man covering Dudgeon.

”Hands up!”

There was the sharp ring in the voice which betokens the strain of a deadly determination. The eyes which glanced along the sights of the levelled weapon, aimed direct at Durham's head, were merciless and hard.

Unless they were the last words he was ever to hear, Durham realised there was only one course open. He raised his hands above his head. A side glance showed him Dudgeon standing with his arms up.

”Turn your back, and put your hands behind you,” he heard the bearded man say, and Dudgeon shuffled round.

A double click followed, a familiar sound to Durham--the click of snapping handcuffs.

”Now, Mr. Detective, it's your turn,” he heard the man say. ”Put your hands behind you.”

The eyes behind the mask wandered for an instant from their aim to glance at the shackled Dudgeon.

On that instant Durham acted.

Straight at the face of the man beside him he hit, and as his clenched fist came in contact with the bearded face, he ducked.

A shrill cry came from the man he had struck, almost simultaneously with the report of a revolver-shot.

Durham heard a scream of pain from Dudgeon, but before he could know more there was a cras.h.i.+ng blow on his head, and he fell senseless to the floor.

CHAPTER X

”FOOLED”

In the dining-room of the bank Wallace, Harding, and Mrs. Eustace sat.