you that I’ve had enough — everybody’s had enough — of your kidnaping Mr. Jessup — the most honest and useful man in the whole Beulah Valley! Typical low-down sneaking kidnapers! If you think your phony Rhodes–Scholar accent keeps you from being just another cowardly, murdering Public Enemy, in your toy-soldier uniform —”
Swan held up his hand in his most genteel Back Bay manner. “A moment, Doctor, if you will be so good?” And to Shad: “I should think we’d heard enough from the Comrade, wouldn’t you, Commissioner? Just take the bastard out and shoot him.”
“O.K.! Swell!” Shad chuckled; and, to the guards at the half-open door, “Get the corporal of the guard and a squad — six men — loaded rifles — make it snappy, see?”
The guard were not far down the corridor, and their rifles were already loaded. It was in less than a minute that Aras Dilley was saluting from the door, and Shad was shouting, “Come here! Grab this dirty crook!” He pointed at Fowler. “Take him along outside.”
They did, for all of Fowler’s struggling. Aras Dilley jabbed Fowler’s right wrist with a bayonet. It spilled blood down on his hand, so scrubbed for surgery, and like blood his red hair tumbled over his forehead.
Shad marched out with them, pulling his automatic pistol from its holster and looking at it happily.
Doremus was held, his mouth was clapped shut, by two guards as he tried to reach Fowler. Emil Staubmeyer seemed a little scared, but Effingham Swan, suave and amused, leaned his elbows on the table and tapped his teeth with a pencil.
From the courtyard, the sound of a rifle volley, a terrifying wail, one single emphatic shot, and nothing after.
