A smile crept over his face--the smile of a man
who has dangerous work to do and does not shrink from the prospect.
He put the revolver back in his pocket and, taking the one lighted
candle remaining, went out by the hall door, as the storm burst
forth in fresh fury and the window-panes of the living-room
rattled before a new reverberation of thunder.
For a moment, in the living-room, except for the thunder, all was
silence. Then the creak of surreptitious footsteps broke the
stillness--light footsteps descending the alcove stairs where the
gleaming eye had passed.
It was Dale slipping out of the house to keep her appointment with
Richard Fleming. She carried a raincoat over her arm and a pair of
rubbers in one hand. Her other hand held a candle. By the terrace
door she paused, unbolted it, glanced out into the streaming night
with a shiver. Then she came into the living-room and sat down to
put on her rubbers.
Hardly had she begun to do so when she started up again. A muffled
knocking sounded at the terrace door. It was ominous and determined,
and in a panic of terror she rose to her feet. If it was the law,
come after Jack, what should she do? Or again, suppose it was the
Unknown who had threatened them with death? Not coherent thoughts
these, but chaotic, bringing panic with them. Almost unconscious of
what she was doing, she reached into the drawer beside her, secured
the revolver there and leveled it at the door.
CHAPTER NINE
A SHOT IN THE DARK
A key clicked in the terrace door--a voice swore muffledly at the
rain.
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