The barred door, of course, was proof that the storeroom was occupied; he paused a moment to peer through the narrow opening. No signs of Haskins. "He's here," he yelled down the stairs to Tish, who was looking up from the bottom. "He's got the door blocked. I'm goin' in, and I'm goin' in a-shootin'." Again his body battered against the door. Don Haskins, his mouth parted into a terrible grimace, swung back his arm. As the constable's head and shoulders appeared at the edge of the door, the sock, the metal knob stuffed wickedly in the toe, described a swift arc and caught Griggs a heavy blow on the skull. With a grunt he pitched forward to the floor in a senseless heap; the convulsion of his body pulled the trigger of the revolver, and its roaring, angry voice thundered through the upper part of the house. The gun slid across the boards and bumped against the leg of the discarded couch. Haskins dropped his improvised weapon and leaped for the gun; his body had scarcely straightened when Sergeant Tish came pounding and panting up the steps, drawn automatic in his hand. As Haskins whirled, he again faced this Nemesis who had trapped him at Eighth Avenue Annie's. No word was spoken; both knew it was one or the other. Haskins fired first, but only by the difference of a split second; the two shots rang out almost as one. Sergeant Tish's shoulder became suddenly numb, a searing numbness, as hot lead bored the flesh. His arm dropped limply helpless to his side, and a sickening nausea paled the chubby roundness of his cheeks. The other man reeled on his feet and steadied himself against the wall. A gasping gurgle, that trailed off into a curse, burst through his hideously parted lips, and his left hand, pressing to his waist, became red with a trickle of crimson. But Haskins did not fire again; there was no need. Sergeant Tish's fingers had lost all their strength, and the automatic clumped to the floor. He could offer no resistance when Haskins stumbled forward, cleared the body of the unconscious constable, and went plunging down the stairs. In the doorway at the foot of the steps Wiggly Price and Doctor Bushnell were staring upward. Haskins lifted the revolver menacingly. "Get outta my way!" he gritted. "I'll kill the first man that tries to stop me." It would have been a foolhardy thing to have opposed the flight of this armed, desperate man, wanted for murder, trying to beat the electric chair. Doctor Bushnell, clutching Wiggly Price's arm, made haste to get out of Haskins' path. Mrs. Bogart screamed shrilly and dashed wildly for the first door. She hurled herself into the room and braced her body against the panel.