And, once noticeable, almost imperceptible as it was it seemed to pervade the room and fill it with a strange, ominous resonance that rose and fell until the blackness palpitated with it.
Slowly, very slowly, Jimmie Dale's hand crept into his pocket--and crept out again with his automatic.

He lay motionless once more.

Time in any concrete sense ceased to exist.

Fancied shapes began to assume form in the darkness.

By the door, Lannigan stirred uneasily, shifting his position slightly.
Was it hours--was it only minutes?
It seemed to ring through the nerve-racking stillness like the shriek of a hurtling shell--and it was only a whisper.
"Watch yourself, Lannigan," whispered Whitey Mack.