The gun went off as it spun from her fingers and she cried out in sudden pain. It hit the floor near Jeff's feet, skidded and bounced as he reached for it and missed. Then Spencer had scooped it up and was straightening on the edge of his chair, his gaze still frightened, but with dangerous glints in the amber eyes where none had been before.
Jeff took a backward step as he stared into the muzzle. He glanced at Cordovez, who had not yet moved. He looked over at Karen who sat white-faced and still on the divan, her eyes round with shock and amazement. Finally he looked at Miranda.
He had his arm around his wife now, his face close to hers. He spoke soft words that no one else could hear and now, as reaction hit her and sanity returned, her eyes had a dazed look, and she whimpered like a little child while she massaged her wrist.
"You hurt me/' she said, her face slack as she let herself be led to the divan.
When he had his emotions in hand, Jeff considered Spencer. He remembered things Carl Webb had said. A mouse who would never fight back unless cornered, and too fast on his feet for that.
The gun made the difference. For Spencer had killed twice, not with premeditation but because he had been trapped. He was still trapped. He was still afraid, his amber eyes said so. But that did not make the threat less
real. And so, because lie could think of nothing else at the moment, Jeff began to talk.
"Why did you smother Grayson?" he asked in a voice that was hard to keep steady.
"He grabbed me." Spencer wet his lips and one hand moved absently to the scars at the base of his throat. "I thought he was unconscious. The envelope was on the desk. I had my back to him and he grabbed my ankle.**
He swallowed and said: "I came down on top of him and the chair came with me. He rolled free and tried to get the gun from the desk and I knocked him back and then he started to yell. I—I guess I panicked. I grabbed the coat. I tried to shut him up and he grabbed my throat. I held the coat over his face. I put my weight on it. I had to."
"And what are you going to do with that?" Jeff said, indicating the gun.
"If somebody makes a move I'm going to use it. I've got to get away."
"Where? Your only chance would be the back country and you wouldn't last a week."
"I could lock you all up. That would give me time. There must be a place."
He said other things but Jeff no longer heard him. For fust then some movement caught the corner of his eye. He controlled the impulse to shift his gaze but he knew that Cordovez's hand had slipped unnoticed inside his jacket, and now his stomach was suddenly tight and he stood immobile, the perspiration drying coldly on his spine.
For he felt instinctively that with a gun Cordovez was not only expert but deadly. Once Spencer tried to use that little automatic he would be a dead man, and though the reporter had little courage, he could panic. It was not that Jeff felt any great sympathy for him. Spencer had been a victim of avarice and circumstance. He had killed, but not viciously or with malice. Jeff could not stand there
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and watch him die, nor did he dare make a warning gesture lest Cordovez be the victim when Spencer sensed his peril. And so, because there was no other way, he fell back on reason and his knowledge of the reporter's character, his voice blunt, impatient, and hard.
"Be smart for once, Dan," he said. "You can't handle this one. It's too big for you and you know it. Nobody can accuse you of murder with premeditation, and this is not the States, you can't hang here. There's a penalty you'll have to pay, but fight it out in court and take your chances. What are his chances, Miranda?" he asked. "What could he expect?"
The lawyer was watching Spencer. "You would do well to follow that advice," he said. "You are still a young man and a few years at San Juan de los Morros in our model prison should not be too difficult. I once made an offer to Mr. Lane," he said. "It was not in good taste but I meant it. I told him if he was arrested I would defend him without charge. I will do the same for you, to the best of my ability, because you have done me a favor by removing Grayson, who was an evil man. Perhaps"—his glance strayed to the woman beside him, though she seemed not to hear—"you have given me a second chance."
Spencer had been listening and the gun shifted in his hand. Fundamentally he had no heart for killing. He had always chosen the easiest way and he wavered now.
"How many years?" he said.
Miranda shrugged. "I cannot promise, but I can tell you this. In my country there are no juries. It is the judge who decides, and often pressure is brought to bear which can influence him. The heaviest penalties come as a result of the pressure brought by the family and relatives of the victim who wish vengeance. I do not know about Baker, but with Grayson I do not believe there will be any such pressure."
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He glanced again at Jeff to see If lie would deny this. "With no one to cry out for vengeance and no one to care, I would say"—he tipped one hand—"perhaps five years, considering the circumstances. But this I promise you: there will be no defense by me unless you put down that gun, and at once."
Spencer took a great shuddering breath and his mouth trembled. He looked down at the gun. Then, as though knowing in his heart that he had neither the courage nor the ability to fight alone for very long, he reached out and put the gun on the table.
Jeff felt his knees weaken and he leaned against the edge of the divan to support himself. For he was watching Cor-dovez now and knowing what a close thing it had been.
"You don't know how lucky you are/* he said in shaky tones.
"Lucky?"
Spencer frowned, brows warping. He hesitated and then, held by something in Jeff's face, he turned to see what Jeff was looking at.
Cordovez, hunched slightly in his chair, sat very still. One hand had slipped inside his open jacket and the gun was there, the muzzle pointed right at Spencer's hollow chest. Slowly then the hand relaxed and Spencer understood completely how death had been waiting for him while he made up his mind.
It may have been this that caused the reaction. It may have been a cumulative process brought on by the realization that everything he had tried had turned out badly, that even the envelope he had tried so hard to run away with proved in the end to have little value. Whatever the reason, he seemed to shrink back in the chair as his mouth opened. A sobbing, convulsive sound tore at his throat and suddenly he put his face in his hands and doubled up, rocking back and forth as his self-control disintegrated and his emotions took charge.
Jeff turned aside, unable to watch any longer. He saw Cordovez replace his gun and step over to take the automatic Spencer had discarded.
"Thank you," the little man said. "I did not know what to do. When hysteria touches a man there is no telling what might happen.**
"Yeah/' Jeff said. "Yeah," Then, when he found more words: "Will you call SegurnalP You can talk to them better than I can."
Cordovez glanced round until he located the telephone. When he dialed, Jeff looked at Miranda, who now sat silently beside his blond wife. Her face still showed traces of shock and her eyes were closed, but she made no resistance when he took her hand and pressed it between his own.
"Spencer was not the only one who was lucky," he said as Jeff moved up to sit beside Karen.
He started to take her hand and found his palms wet. He took out a handkerchief and wiped them and then she took it away from him and wiped his forehead. When he retrieved it he kept her hand and found that he could smile.