They said nothing. One or two were on their feet, but even they remained safely motionless, having apparently no wish to court the certain death which lurked in the breech of the automatic that roamed so hopefully from head to head. And Storm went on baiting them, playing for a few minutes' grace in which to recover slightly from the stunning results of the shot he had taken and to formulate some scheme for getting Susan loose from the ropes without exposing himself to attack. "You poor wet fish!" The tang of his whiplash contempt bit tellingly into the raw ends of their vanity with every measured stroke. "A suckling could boss a gang of white-livered slum rats like you! Hold up London itself for fifteen million? Take an expert's advice and go off and practice on hen-rabbits till you get stringy enough to hold up a hysterical old woman for fifteen cents and get away with it. I'm disappointed. I'm a plain ornery fighting machine--I'll fight anyone, any time, any place, and any old how--and I thought I'd landed the goods when I picked on you. Instead of which I find I'm bullyragging a grown-up Sunday School. This is my second guess! After grubstaking a stumer like this, I'm going fishing for tadpoles next time I feel bored. It's more exciting, and a heap more dangerous." He had them writhing under the scourge, knew that every iota of the smart sank right in where it was meant to go--but still they stayed their hands. Tenacity of life, for the moment, held them at bay. Only for the moment. Storm knew that it couldn't last. It was only a question of time before someone gave the cue for the next movement of the ballet, and that time wasn't likely to be over-long elapsing. Very soon they must realise their strength, just as he realised his weakness. He was alone in the house, and no one knew where he was. No rescue party had been arranged for at the critical moment. If they attacked him in one concerted mob, he might kill half a dozen of them if he were lucky, but after that they'd have their revenge. And Susan would be left to face the final racket.... Zero hour. Already he had pondered every detail of the room. As far as he knew, there was only the one exit--the door through which he had entered. There might be others--in fact, there probably were--but those hangings which surrounded the room were as bad as a fog. There wasn't a hope of gaining sufficient time to poke round all the four walls until one spotted the necessary bolt-hole. Therefore.... "Big Triangle, this is a private bus," Storm said. "Get off! Go and play with your friends in the audience." One gun motioned him away from the platform, and then returned to aim on Surcon's heart. The Apex hesitated, but there was a flaring menace in Storm's grey eyes which brooked no refusal. "And keep those hands of yours miles away from everything!" added Storm.