Piper--whichever it was of the two
that remained alive--might very well shoot him unless he or she had shot
himself or herself first. It seemed to Oliver that the latter event would
save everyone a great deal of trouble.
He did not relish the idea of being left alone in a perfectly strange
apartment with two corpses and one gagged, bound and unconscious best
friend--but he liked the picture of himself trying to make explanations to
either his hostess or Mr. Piper when, in either case, the other party to
the argument would be in possession of a loaded revolver, still less. He
hoped that if Mrs. Severance were the survivor she had had a sufficiently
Western upbringing at least to know how to shoot. He had no particular wish
to die--but anything was better than being mangled--and a reminiscence
of Hedda Gabler's poet's technique with firearms caused his stomach to
contract quite painfully as he tightened the knots around Ted's ankles. Ted
was the devil and all to get out on the fire-escape--and then you had to
tie him so that he wouldn't roll off.
He crawled back through the window, dusted his trousers, and settled his
necktie as carefully as if he were going to be married.
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