With one swift, desperate movement, in spite
of his handcuffs, he jerked the real Anderson's revolver from him
by the barrel, then wheeling with lightning rapidity on Bailey,
brought the butt of Anderson's revolver down on his wrist. Bailey's
revolver fell to the floor with a clatter. The Bat swung toward the
door. Again the tables were turned!
"Hands up, everybody!" he ordered, menacing the group with the
stolen pistol. "Hands up--you!" as Miss Cornelia kept her hands
at her sides.
It was the greatest moment of Miss Cornelia's life. She smiled
sweetly and came toward the Bat as if the pistol aimed at her heart
were as innocuous as a toothbrush.
"Why?" she queried mildly. "I took the bullets out of that revolver
two hours ago."
The Bat flung the revolver toward her with a curse. The real
Anderson instantly snatched up the gun that Bailey had dropped and
covered the Bat.
"Don't move!" he warned, "or I'll fill you full of lead!" He smiled
out of the corner of his mouth at Miss Cornelia who was primly
picking up the revolver that the Bat had flung at her--her own
revolver.
"You see--you never know what a woman will do," he continued.
Miss Cornelia smiled. She broke open the revolver, five loaded
shells fell from it to the floor. The Bat stared at her--then
stared incredulously at the bullets.
"You see," she said, "I, too, have a little imagination!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
QUITE A COLLECTION
An hour or so later in a living-room whose terrors had departed,
Miss Cornelia, her niece, and Jack Bailey were gathered before a
roaring fire.
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