...
That would be Phinuit out there, no doubt, disdaining to waste time
breaking in the door, or perhaps fearing his reception once it was
down. An innocent and harmless amusement, if he enjoyed it, that it
seemed a pity to interrupt. At the same time it grew annoying. The door
was taking on the look of a sieve, and the neighbourhood of the
deadlights, Lanyard's sole avenue of escape, was being well peppered.
Something would have to be done about it...
Lanyard completed his preparations by kicking off his shoes and taking
up another notch in the belt that supported his trousers. If the swim
before him proved a long one, he could get rid of his garments in the
water readily enough; if on the other hand the shore proved to be close
at hand, it would be more convenable to land at least half clothed.
Then--the fusillade continuing without intermission save when the man
outside stopped long enough to extract an empty clip and replace it
with one loaded--Lanyard edged along the partition to the door,
calculated the stand of the lunatic in the saloon from the angle at
which the bullets were coming through, and emptied the pistol he had
taken from Phinuit at the panels as fast as he could pull trigger.
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