“Listen, kid, this spot is getting tough. Give me the key to this door or I’m going to turn this gun loose and it will be just too bad if I get you. I’ve got plenty of extra clips and I’m going out of here on my feet. Give me that key!” Bob knew there was no time to lose for there was a ring of panic in the other’s voice and you never could tell what a panic-stricken man would do. The desks afforded little protection from a barrage of bullets and Bob quickly edged his way out from behind them and in between two steel filing cases. While these were not intended to be bullet proof, at least they were much better than oak desks. “Did you hear me?” called the voice from near the doorway. “Give me that key.” Bob slipped his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a key ring. The key to his own room was somewhat similar to the one that fitted the door of this office. He quickly detached this and tossed it toward the door. He couldn’t afford to cry out now for he knew the man near the door would shoot. The key fell on the floor and he could hear the frantic efforts of the other to locate it. Then came a gasp of relief from the unknown and Bob heard him fumbling at the keyhole, trying to insert the key and turn it in the lock. There was a sharp cry from the man at the door. “You’ve tricked me. Give me the right key. Give it to me!” The voice was nearing a hysterical pitch and Bob smiled grimly. The man couldn’t stand the dark and the certain knowledge that outside men were speeding toward that very room, men who would shoot first and ask questions afterward. Bob wondered whether tossing another key would again trick the man at the door. Before he could decide there was a stab of flame in the blackness and a bullet crashed through the desks where he had been hiding. “Come on; give me that key!” The voice was hysterical now, a scream that cut through the room and echoed out the shattered window. Down below another police siren was ebbing as a second car pulled up at the curb and disgorged its load of armed men, who rushed into the building to follow the lead of the first detail. Bob faintly heard elevator doors clang open. It would be only seconds now until they were at the door, beating their way in. By this time Bob’s eyes were well accustomed to the darkness and he could distinguish the shadow of the man crouched near the door, listening now to the pounding of the police as they charged up the long corridor. “Bob, Bob! Where are you?” It was Merritt Hughes and Bob thrilled at the voice of his uncle. Then dismay filled him for he knew what would happen if they broke down the door and charged into the room for a trapped man is always dangerous. Fists beat against the door and two ribbons of flame streaked from the gun, the bullets crashing through the door and out into the corridor. Bob couldn’t help shouting a warning. “Keep away; he’s desperate!”