Читать книгу The Orator - Edgar Wallace - Страница 7

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Major Dawlton, sitting in the office chair, yawned.

“She’s sold you,” he said.

“I told you not to come,” said Mr. Rater.

He stood with his back to the wall, glooming down at the Assistant Commissioner thoughtfully. The Major looked at his watch.

“I’ll give her another quarter of an hour——”

“Whee-e-smack!”

Something whizzed past him; he felt the disturbance of air and, turning his startled head, saw the glass of a framed photograph splinter disastrously.

There was no sound of a shot—no report.

He was on his feet in an instant and ran to the window.

Something struck the sill on which his hand rested, ripped a jagged wound in the stone and brought down the plaster from the ceiling.

“I’d keep away from that window,” said the Orator gently. “They tell me he’s a wonderful rifle shot, but I thought he’d operate from the Council building. The barge was certainly a brilliant idea.”

Major Dawlton’s face was white as death.

“Shooting!” he gasped. “At me!”

“At me,” said the Orator pensively. “I hope those fellows have located him. I should think they would.”

As he spoke he saw two motor-launches filled with men shoot out from the cover of the parapet; they were making for the barge.

“That’s all right,” said the Orator. “Now we’ve got something to charge him with.”

“They were shooting at me!” squeaked the Major.

“I told you not to come,” said Mr. Rater, but the joy in his eyes belied his tone of sympathy.