the room with an ugly look on his face, tugging at his imperial. The two of them were nicely in line. I stepped back behind my chair, then, with a quick movement, I slipped my hand into my side pocket and threw up the deadly, automatic arm.
"Hands up, both of you, and quick," I snarled.
My friend, it was worth the risk to see their faces. Of course, I wasn't studying dramatic effects at the time, and, as a matter of fact, I was almost on the point of killing them both before they had recovered from the shock enough to obey. Then up went Ivan's hands and he lurched back against his desk, actually pushed, as it seemed by the murderous force projected out of me. Chu-Chu felt it, too, for although he was frozen into stone for an instant his arms went up stiffly as his eyes met mine.
"Not a sound," I growled. "Not a motion, or you're both dead men."
For an instant we stood so. Then I said to Ivan:
"Back over there by Chu-Chu. One shifty move from either and you stop a soft-nosed bullet. Back against the wall—both of you."
Chu-Chu was gurgling like a trapped bear and the veins stood out on his forehead. For the moment I doubted that he'd stand and was tempted to kill them both. Then Ivan laughed.
"Check," said he.
"Shut up!" I snarled. "Not a sound if you love your life."
Both felt, I think, that for all their past interesting lives of crime neither had been quite so near the ragged edge. Ivan's face was white but calm, but Chu-Chu's was terrible.
