Breathlessly he mouthed his men back out of the passage, and flattened himself against the blind wall so that the opening door would hide him from whoever came out. The oak swung back by inches, nervously, and it was nearly half a minute before it closed again and Teal saw a stocky, crouching shape silhouetted against the nimbus of twilight which came from the hall. Holding his breath, Teal leapt silently as any pard. His big hand tightened round the man's throat before so much as a whimper could disturb the stillness, and Teal lifted the furtive one bodily from the ground and padded down the corridor with him. "There's a long, long jail a-waiting--for you--dearie!" Teal's voice stole to the man's ear drums in a husky pianissimo, and Teal's ungentle fingers forced a scared face round to meet the light. And then Inspector Teal, that sedate apostle of tranquillity, let out an involuntary gasp of amazement, for the man he carried was Joe Blaythwayt! CHAPTER XXVIII LAST ROUND Storm's face was bleak, but his two guns might have been gripped in vises mounted on rock-based foundations for all the quivering they showed. He thought that the colossal impact of Morini's bullet must have broken a rib, for, although no revolver in the world loaded a charge heavy enough to penetrate that wonderful steel-chain armour, the imperviousness of it was no defence against the sheer shock of the blow. Every breath he took stabbed an excruciating pang through his lungs. Yet his gay, reckless fighting smile was on his lips; and, when he spoke again, his voice was still deadly even, still rippling so deceptively smoothly over jagged slivers of quartz. "Free Tip Number Two--straight from the stable--Big Triangle: When you flick out the king of trumps, never start in gloating until you're dam' sure the other man hasn't got the ace tucked away in his fist some place! This is where you look round for your umpteenth guess! All of you. And listen--just bat so much as an eyelid, one of you frogricked horse thieves, and you'll find out where fleas go when they've dined off a dope-soaked suicide! Anybody care to try it? No? Nobody curious? I'll say you're a crew of unenterprising sons of a Port Mahon baboon! And I'll bet less than twelve hours ago you were all scratching each other's backs and telling yourselves what a tough lot of hell-for-leather fire-eaters you were. Je-rusalem! You make me tired. What about it--huh? Can't you even raise one lone cuss-word among the lot of you? Tough? Gosh! I'd like to have the whole boiling of you aboard a good old-fashioned windjammer with a hard-case bucko mate to help me teach you real toughness."