“I would have so little problem killing you,” I advised her. “You’re already dead, remember?”

Still holding my gun against her head, I stepped behind her and wrapped my left arm around her waist, clamping my hand around her right wrist, but she was not even trying to struggle.

“Ray!” Gail cried, distraught. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Gunther had pulled my suit jacket away from his arm and was pointing his Luger at both of us. Marksman or not, there was no way at this angle he could shoot me without hitting her. “What do I do?” he implored of the woman who gave him his orders.

I counseled Martha, “Tell him to put his gun in the bottom desk drawer or your brains will be wallpaper.” I sounded like I meant it, and maybe I did. “I could shoot you right now in cold blood, call the police, tell them what I know, and I’d be getting my picture taken with the mayor at noon tomorrow. The only hope you have right now is my concern for Gail. Let go of your gun.”

Martha did so. As it clattered to the floor, she advised Gunther to do as I’d said. Advantage, Mr. Sherwood. I had Martha kick her pistol across the room toward Gunther, who followed my instructions and placed first her pistol and then his holstered Luger deep into the well of the desk’s left bottom drawer.

Gail was close to despair. “You’re going to ruin everything, Ray.”

I told Martha to sit, and she did so without a peep. I moved quickly to the washroom door, always keeping her in view. A quick glance inside showed me there was no window and no vent large enough for a person to escape. “Get in here,” I told him. He stared at me like a rabid dog whose jaws had been tied shut. I had him sit down on the toilet seat and locked him in the washroom from the outside, pocketing the key.

I walked back over to the two women. Gail was silently mournful, and although I was the one with the gun, she stared at Martha as if her mother had all the answers.

“Gunther usually knows how to frisk people,” commented the strangely assured Martha, who asked, with what seemed like professional curiosity, “How’d you get the gun?”