‘That’s a very nice revolver,’ he said. ‘I suggest you put it down before you hurt yourself.’ ‘You will be the ones surrendering your weapons,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The authorities will be here within seconds.’ Another man with a scar running down the side of his face had a gun trained on a woman with greying hair. Presumably, she was Phoebe Carfax. A black-haired man had his weapon pointed at an elderly Greek maid tied to a chair. A glance passed between Blondie and Scar Face. ‘I don’t believe you,’ Scar Face said. ‘You’re lying.’ ‘You don’t have to believe me,’ Mr Doyle replied. ‘Lower your weapons and no-one will be hurt.’ ‘Pain may be unavoidable,’ Black Hair said. ‘Jack,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Release the lady that these men have so impolitely tied to that chair.’ ‘Don’t move.’ Black Hair waved his machine gun at Jack. It was cool in the darkening room, lit now by two oil lamps on the mantelpiece, but a trickle of sweat slid down Jack’s cheek.
