"I don't know why we allow you to do all this, Reade," fumed Hawkins, whose
face was white with rage.
"It's because you're afraid, and know that you can't help yourselves," Tom
smiled.
"I'll show you who's afraid!" yelled Hawkins, again throwing his right
hand back to his hip pocket.
This time Reade saw the unmistakable butt of a revolver. Without an
instant's hesitation. Reade leaped at the fellow. In a moment Tom had
the revolver, springing backwards.
"Well---shoot!" jeered Hawkins. "You don't dare to."
"You're right," assented Tom coolly. "I don't dare to. Assassination
belongs to the lowest orders of human beings. An honest man seldom has
any need of concealed deadly weapons."
Tom stepped still farther back, breaking the revolver and dropping the
cartridges into one hand. Hawkins made a move as though to spring upon
him, but Harry leaped into the room, confronting the gambler.
Thus shielded, Tom drew a combination tool-knife from one of his pockets,
then coolly drew out the screw that held the trigger in place.
Dropping the trigger into his own pocket, Tom tossed the weapon back.
"Catch it, Hawkins," he called. "You may want this to frighten some
children with over in Blixton.
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