The Game Played in the Dark | Page 9

at the
window. Don't let him pass and we are all right."
"I am here," responded Dompierre from the door.
"He will not attempt to pass," came the quiet voice of Carrados from
across the room. "You are now all exactly where I want you. You are
both covered. If either moves an inch, I fire and remember that I shoot
by sound, not sight."
"But--but what does it mean?" stammered Montmorency, above the
despairing wail of Madame Dompierre.
"It means that we are now on equal terms--three blind men in a dark
room. The numerical advantage that you possess is counterbalanced by
the fact that you are out of your element--I am in mine."
"Dom," whispered Montmorency across the dark space, "strike a match.
I have none."

"I would not, Dompierre, if I were you," advised Carrados, with a short
laugh. "It might be dangerous."
At once his voice seemed to leap into a passion. "Drop that matchbox,"
he cried. "You are standing on the brink of your grave, you fool! Drop
it, I say; let me hear it fall."
A breath of thought almost too short to call a pause--then a little thud of
surrender sounded from the carpet by the door. The two conspirators
seemed to hold their breath.
"That is right." The placid voice once more resumed its sway. "Why
cannot things be agreeable? I hate to have to shout, but you seem far
from grasping the situation yet. Remember that I do not take the
slightest risk. Also please remember, Mr. Montmorency, that the action
even of a hair-trigger automatic scrapes slightly as it comes up. I
remind you of that for your own good, because if you are so ill-advised
as to think of trying to pot me in the dark, that noise gives me a fifth of
a second start of you. Do you by any chance know Zinghi's in Mercer
Street?"
"The shooting gallery?" asked Mr. Montmorency a little sulkily.
"The same. If you happen to come through this alive and are interested
you might ask Zinghi to show you a target of mine that he keeps. Seven
shots at twenty yards, the target indicated by four watches, none of
them so loud as the one you are wearing. He keeps it as a curiosity."
"I wear no watch," muttered Dompierre, expressing his thought aloud.
"No, Monsieur Dompierre, but you wear a heart, and that not on your
sleeve," said Carrados. "Just now it is quite as loud as Mr.
Montmorency's watch. It is more central too--I shall not have to allow
any margin. That is right; breathe naturally"--for the unhappy
Dompierre had given a gasp of apprehension. "It does not make any
difference to me, and after a time holding one's breath becomes really
painful."

"Monsieur," declared Dompierre earnestly, "there was no intention of
submitting you to injury, I swear. This Englishman did but speak
within his hat. At the most extreme you would have been but bound
and gagged. Take care: killing is a dangerous game."
"For you--not for me," was the bland rejoinder. "If you kill me you will
be hanged for it. If I kill you I shall be honourably acquitted. You can
imagine the scene--the sympathetic court--the recital of your
villainies--the story of my indignities. Then with stumbling feet and
groping hands the helpless blind man is led forward to give evidence.
Sensation! No, no, it isn't really fair but I can kill you both with
absolute certainty and Providence will be saddled with all the
responsibility. Please don't fidget with your feet, Monsieur Dompierre.
I know that you aren't moving but one is liable to make mistakes."
"Before I die," said Montmorency--and for some reason laughed
unconvincingly in the dark--"before I die, Mr. Carrados, I should really
like to know what has happened to the light. That, surely, isn't
Providence?"
"Would it be ungenerous to suggest that you are trying to gain time?
You ought to know what has happened. But as it may satisfy you that I
have nothing to fear from delay, I don't mind telling you. In my hand
was a sharp knife--contemptible, you were satisfied, as a weapon;
beneath my nose the 'flex' of the electric lamp. It was only necessary
for me to draw the one across the other and the system was
short-circuited. Every lamp on that fuse is cut off and in the
distributing-box in the hall you will find a burned-out wire. You,
perhaps--but Monsieur Dompierre's experience in plating ought to have
put him up to simple electricity."
"How did you know that there is a distributing-box in the hall?" asked
Dompierre, with dull resentment.
"My dear Dompierre, why beat the air with futile questions?" replied
Max Carrados. "What does it matter? Have it in the cellar if you like."