Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/118

 unshaven tough sharply. Like lightning Val’s hands shot up. He had gauged the distance exactly, and his right hand came in contact with the cock of the gas jet. With a snap of his fingers he turned it, leaving the room in instant black darkness.

“Jump for it, Eddie!” he shouted, jumping from his own place instantly. It was well that he did so, because the blackness of the room was punctured by a vivid barking flash as a gun went off, filling the room with acrid smoke.

In an instant the six men in the room were a tangle of striking arms and legs, each fearing to shoot, not knowing which was friend and which was foe. With a fearful, vivid joy, Val and Eddie plunged into the mass, striking, throwing aside, kicking.

Val picked up a cursing body and threw it, knocking down furniture and men. He jumped into the thick of the struggling humans, pounding viciously with his ham-like fist and his revolver butt. At the door the mix-up was thickest. A figure jumped at Eddie. There was the sharp crack of a human fist on bone, and the man slumped down unconscious, as clean a knockout as was ever made.

“Through the door, boss!” shouted Eddie.

“Righto!” shouted Val, plunging for the entrance. A figure blocked his way. He picked it up and threw it through the door. It struck the stairs half way down and rolled on.

“Now for it, young feller me lad!” shouted Val. Down the stairs they plunged, Val and Eddie. A revolver barked three times after them, but they felt nothing. The doors in the apartments were closed—it was not a good time to open doors.