And then, startling in its crisp transatlantic tones, a voice said:
“Stick ’em up.â€
They swerved around. Schwartz, dressed in a peculiarly vivid set of striped pyjamas stood in the doorway. In his hand he held an automatic.
“Stick ’em up, guys. I’m pretty good at shooting.â€
He pressed the trigger — and a bullet sang past the big man’s ear and buried itself in the woodwork of the window.
Three pairs of hands were raised rapidly.
Agatha Christie