. . . . .
While these astounding events were transpiring in the little
church, Kennedy and I had been tearing across the country in his
big car, following the directions of our fair friend.
We stopped at last before a prosperous, attractive-looking house
and entered a very prettily furnished but small parlor. Heavy
portieres hung over the doorway into the hall, over another into a
back room and over the bay windows.
"Won't you sit down a moment?" coaxed Gertie. "I'm quite blown to
pieces after that ride. My, how you drive!"
As she pulled aside the hall portieres, three men with guns thrust
their hands out. I turned. Two others had stepped from the back
room and two more from the bay window. We were surrounded. Seven
guns were aimed at us with deadly precision.
"No--no--Walter--it's no use," shouted Kennedy calmly restraining
my hand which I had clapped on my own gun.
At the same time, with his other hand, he took from his pocket the
small can which I had seen him place there, and held it aloft.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly. "I suspected some such thing. I have
here a small box of fulminate of mercury. If I drop it, this
building and the entire vicinity will be blown to atoms. Go ahead-
-shoot!" he added, nonchalantly.
The seven of them drew back, rather hurriedly.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154