During intensely dramatic moments nervous laughter is near the surface, and there was something rigidly dramatic about the methodical, sidling advance of that man half crouched behind his overcoat.

Tom, as he had been called, gave Gray the impression of Death itself marching slowly forward to drape that black shroud upon his cowering victim.
Brief as had been the whole episode, already passers-by had halted, staring faces were glued to the front windows of the cafe.

Well they might stare at those two tense figures, one advancing, the other retreating, as if to the measures of some slow dance.
[Illustration: "DON'T COME ANY CLOSER.

DON'T DO IT, I TELL YOU!"] But the tempo changed abruptly.

The desperado's back brought up against the swinging kitchen door; it gave to his weight and decision was born of that instant.