the white heat of a rage that had no chance of exhausting itself in action. But by this time Dorgan was a mere incident in the widening circle of Sadie's enterprises. What she wanted now was escape from that house, and escape at any cost.
She saw Dorgan raise a hand, as though to strike at her, and she caught at this movement as a pretext for dodging back behind her table. For a moment she nursed the hope of continuing her flight through the black curtains that draped the front of her materializing cabinet, and through the cabinet to the rear door that opened on the hall, and from the hall to the upper regions of the house.
But this hope lasted only for a moment, for Keudell was at her side before she had even rounded the table-end. He stood so close to her, as she drew up, that the revolver barrel in his upraised hand pressed against her body and gave her a runway of chills up and down the backbone.
"Hand me that package!" he commanded. He spoke with a quiet huskiness of voice that seemed more threatening and more intimidating than the loudest shout could be.
During one moment's space Sadie's questioning eyes rested on those of her captor, for the fingers
