"Now we're in for it. By heaven, he ought
to kill you!"
"Braddock!" gasped Grand. "Why, he is in jail--" The words died on his
lips. He recognized the man. His eyes bulged, his grayish face seemed
to freeze stiff, with the lower lip and tongue hanging loose.
Transfixed, he saw Thomas Braddock straighten up, relinquish his grip
on the iron post, and start diagonally across the street, his head
bent forward, his lower jaw extended. His unswerving gaze never left
the face of Robert Grand.
"Get into the carriage, Roberta," shouted Grand, suddenly alive to his
peril. He trembled, but he was not the man to run from an adversary,
nor was he likely to sell his life cheaply. With a quick, desperate
tug, he jerked himself free of David's grasp. His hand flew to his
inside coat pocket.
Thomas Braddock had reached the curb. Miss Grand stood directly in his
path, petrified by terror. Like a cat he sprang forward, cunningly
putting her body between him and Grand, making it impossible for the
latter to shoot without imperiling the life of his daughter.
A revolver gleamed in the hand of the man on the steps.
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