Slowly he opened his right hand and his revolver fell on the linen cloth. Then Roger burst into the room.
Titania wrenched herself away from the chef.
"I wouldn't give them the suitcase!" she cried.
Aubrey kept his pistol pinned against Weintraub's face. With his left hand he picked up the druggist's revolver. Roger was about to seize the chef, who was standing uncertainly on the other side of the table.
"Here," said Aubrey, "take this gun. Cover this fellow and leave that one to me. I've got a score to settle with him."
The chef made a movement as though to jump through the window behind him, but Aubrey flung himself upon him. He hit the man square on the nose and felt a delicious throb of satisfaction as the rubbery flesh flattened beneath his knuckles. He seized the man's hairy throat and sank his fingers into it. The other tried to snatch the bread knife on the table, but was too late. He fell to the floor, and Aubrey throttled him savagely.
"You blasted Hun," he grunted. "Go wrestling with girls, will you?"
Titania ran from the room, through the pantry.
Roger was holding Weintraub's revolver in front of the German's face.
"Look here," he said, "what does this mean?"
