The Black Mask · To Catch a Thief (2/3) (2/2)

“You’d better not,” he repeated, smiling; and now I saw that if I did I should only shoot into the bed or my own legs. His hand was on the top of mine, bending it down, and the revolver with it. The strength of it was as the strength of ten of mine; and now both his knees were on the bed; and suddenly I saw his other hand, doubled into a fist, coming up slowly over the suitcase.

“Help!” I called feebly.

“Help, forsooth! I begin to believe you are from the Yard,” he said⁠—and his uppercut came with the “Yard.” It caught me under the chin.

It lifted me off my legs. I have a dim recollection of the crash that I made in falling.