The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1935-11-29
CHAPTER FORTY-TW

w last sounds she heard were
the ear-splitting noises of large
scale and sustained gun battle
When she emerged from her stu
por, three or four minutes later, the
sounds we're still in her cars.
She lay on the floor of the bed
room, blinking at the darkness as
her senses returned.
Some one had come into her room
and was kneeling there, tense and
motionleSS, for moment; then his
trigger finger moved, and the sharp
rat-a-tat of his weapon drowned
out all the other noises.
Acrid powder smoke was on her
lips and in her eyes, as she lay
there duly watching. The night
had gone insane; it seemed as if
she would always be in just this po
stion, groveling on the floor while
a nerve destroying racket filled the
air and shadowy figures moved
about in the half-light on errandS
Of violence and destruction.
The man had stopped firing, and
lodged down below the window
sill, his bulky weapon clutched in
his hands, its muZzle touching her
knee The man blinked and saw
her recumbent figure in the dusk.
Hey he said hoarsely. Who
is it?'
Jean made no answer, and the
man evidently took it for granted
that she had been killed. He
wasted mt time on vain regrets. but
slowly raised himself to peer out
of the window.
After a long look, he got to his
knees again and raised his weapon
to shoot; but before he could press
the trigger he Unexpectedly spun
half around, teetered drunkenly on
his knees, and then collapsed on
his face. The machine gun lay be-
meath him; Jean found herself
stupidity wondering if it wasn't an
awfully uncomfortable thing to lie
on-until suddenly, she realized
that the man was dead.
VA AAAA Wis ANelA|'Uioii oiio 1oVAi
w argy that had held her
seemed to fall away,
Outside, somewhere, was Larry
Glenn-and Larry represented
safety, rescue, return to the old
life which, half an hour ago,
seemed forever out of her reach.
No longer could she lie here in
a half-stupor, listening to the
clamor all about her in a drugged
detachment. The fight that was
going on was her fight. If the per-
sons in the house won, then she
loSt-everything that made life
worth living.
She raised herself to her hands
and knees; conquering her revul-
sion, she craWled to where the
dead gunman lay, She wanted
weapon and she meant to have
one.
Tugging at his shoulders, she
rolled him over. The Sub-machine
gun lay there, vicious-looking-
and, she realized, altogether too
complicated to do her any good
even If she did take possession of
1t. Did this man carry revolver?
Jean bent closer.
His coat had fallen back, and a
shoulder holster was visible under
his left armpit. She reached in,
pulled out revolver and looked at
1t curiouSly.
AT least, now, she was armed
and if worst came to worst,
and Larry'S fight failed
There was a momentary lull in
the firing; and in the lull Jean
heard hurried footsteps coming
along the hail. A voice called,
You, Spike, in there-whats tn
matter!"
She moved before she had time to
think-one quick lunge that hid her
IN the shadows in the corner of the
room. The door swung open and
some one came in and went to
where the dead man lay.
Jean could see him squatting
down, could hear him mutter some
thing; then she saw him pick up the
machine gun and move cautiously
toward the window. AS he came
into the moonlight. she saw his face.
1t was Red Jackson.
Jean never quite knew, afterward,