The lookout made an offer. “I’ll give you my share for her.”

Leila edged closer to the window. “You won’t lose,” she promised.

Nobody spoke. In the silence the slow, hypnotic beat coming from below repeated itself endlessly, changing instruments for eight-bar solos.

“It’s a deal,” the white man said. “Now get back on the door.”

“I’ll stay here—let Lefty take the door.”

Leila turned her back to the window and groped behind her for the shade. Her fingers found the drawstring.

“Kill him!” she screamed and jerked the string.

Everything happened at once.

The shade flew up and spun at the top in sudden chopping sound like a runaway ratchet wheel.

Leila dropped toward the floor as the white man threw the knife. It caught her in the stomach and went in up to the hilt.

The lookout swung his automatic, searching for a target.

Glass shattered, and the room exploded with the big, hard, head-splitting roar of a high-powered .38 as Grave Digger, standing on the snow-covered fire escape, shot through the iron window grill and put two slugs less than an inch apart in the gunman’s heart.

Simultaneously, two shots sounded from the corridor; metal broke and wood crashed, and cold air rushed into the room.

The left-handed gunman spun toward the connecting doorway and went through with his pistol down at his left hip in the Hollywood gunslinger’s fashion. He ran into a brace of slugs and came reeling back with two sudden eyes in his forehead, his coat flapping in the hard percussion of sound.

With no expression whatsoever in his beetle-browed, brutal face, the white man drew from the shoulder. He was lightning fast.

But Grave Digger had already taken a bead on him with the long nickel-plated barrel resting on an iron crossbar. He put the first one in the white man’s right arm, just above the elbow, and the second one in his left kneecap.

The pistol dropped from the white man’s hand as he pitched to the rug on his face. The pain in his knee was excruciating, but he didn’t make a sound. He was like a wounded tiger, silent, crippled, but still as dangerous a killer as the jungle ever saw. Without looking up, knowing that he didn’t have a chance, he turned over and lunged for his fallen pistol with his left hand.

Coffin Ed came in from the reception room and kicked it out of his reach, then crossed the room and shot the padlock off the window grill.

Grave Digger kicked it in, knocked out the broken window glass with the side of his shoe and came into the room. Snow followed him.

Leila was curled up against the baseboard with her hands gripping the handle of the knife, crying softly and moaning.

Grave Digger knelt down, pulled her hands away gently and handcuffed them behind her back.

“You can’t pull it out,” he said. “That would only kill you.”

Coffin Ed was occupied handcuffing the white man’s good left hand to his good right leg. The white man looked at him without expression.