“Malloy! Come out with your hands
G-man’s mouth.
up! You’re cornered and surrounded.”
Hastings spat blood, closed grimly
For a moment there was silence to the attack once more. Like a pounding within the house, the stark silence of piston his fist hammered again and again complete and utter surprise. Then, like the into the evil face of Malloy. Then of a
roaring of a bull, came Malloy’s call to sudden the gangster gave a swift and
arms.
mighty wrench of his gun-hand.
“It’s the heat! Get out that tommy
gun. Let ’em have it! Blast ’em or we’ll all FOR a fleeting instant Hastings’ grip was be dead men!”
loosened. Malloy’s wrist tore away. His
A machine gun stuttered from gun hand was free!
without in answer to Malloy’s challenge. In Hastings saw the thirty-eight move,
another instant the tommy belched forth a saw the muzzle come up. Desperately he
chattering answer. The night was hideous swung his right again. This time every
with sound. The shouts of men merged
ounce of his strength was behind it.
with the sharp clatter of the small arms.
It smashed full on the point of
Relentlessly the besiegers closed in
Malloy’s jaw even as the thirty-eight
on the house. A stinging thread of fire
exploded. He heard the bullet whine past crashed against the tiny window of his ear. Then the weapon clattered Hastings’ cell. Shards of glass tinkled to impotently to the floor.
the floor. Then, of a sudden, he again heard Malloy’s knees buckled. He fell
the mighty voice of Malloy, raised above grunting at Hastings’ feet. The G-man
the din of the fight. “Hold ’em off with that snatched up Malloy’s fallen weapon, raced tommy! I’ll settle that rat who double-into the living room. He saw a bending
crossed us—”
figure over a tommy gun. He raised the
Heavy footsteps raced across the thirty-eight, fired. The gunner slumped, his floor. Hastings heard the lock turn in the deadly weapon stilled.
door of his cell. Swiftly he made his way to Men raced on the porch outside,
the side of the door, stood there motionless.
poured into the room. Those of the Malloy The door pushed open. Gun in hand, mob who yet lived backed against the wall.
Malloy charged into the chamber.
Their hands were raised above their heads.
Hastings leaped at him. His right
Mitchel, chief of the Division,
fist hammered against the killer’s jaw. His entered the room behind his men. His face left seized the thirty-eight, tried to wrench lit up as he saw Hastings.
it from the other’s grip.
“Good work,” he said. “Garnett
A single shot spat from the barrel,
figured it for us.... All right, boys,” he said ate an ugly hole in the floor. Malloy had to his men. “Round ’em up. Where’s
reeled back from the blow, yet he did not Malloy? Where’s Norcross?”
Gunman’s Hate
7
“Upstairs,” said Hastings. “In the
code in it, I was certain of that, for a while.
attic. Better get him out right away.”
Then, when I put it under the microscope, I Mitchel issued an order to a got it.”
subordinate. It was Garnett himself who
“Got what?” roared Malloy.
brought up Malloy, still blinking, half
“It was between the lines,” Hastings
dazed, yet conscious. Hastings grinned at said. “Literally between the lines. I marked his partner.
those black lines on the paper with the
“I knew you’d figure it,” he said.
point of the pencil. I did it in Morse code
“Hell,” said Garnett. “I can figure
with dots and dashes. Of course, inasmuch any code you can write!”
as the pencil lead was the same color as the Malloy stared at them dully. lines they weren’t visible to the naked eye.
“Code?” he said. “What the hell are you
But I knew that if Garnett couldn’t figure a talking about? I dictated that note myself!”
code out of it he’d use a microscope.
“Tell him, boys,” grinned Mitchel.
Which he did. It was easy enough to read
“Well,” said Garnett, “I knew there
them.”
was something phony because of the
Hate blazed in Malloy’s eyes. He
backhand. I didn’t know what, but that
roared a fearful curse which ended in a
backhand said out loud to me, ‘There’s a shattered sob. Roughly they dragged him
message here somewhere, if you can find
away.
it.’ It took me some time. There was no
Gunman’s Hate by Col Page 2