warded. In this drawer she found an automatic pistol and several clips of cartridges. And a small wave of satisfaction sped through her tired body as she possessed herself of this weapon. For now, she knew, the fight would not be such a one-sided one.
She was standing deep in thought again, balancing the gunmetal weapon in her hand when a sudden sound arrested her. She heard the knob of her door turn and then move more vigorously, as though tugged at by an impatient hand.
"Who locked this door?" demanded a muffled voice from the hall. She knew it was Wallaby Sam speaking. She heard him step to the stair-banister and call down to his companions in the lower regions of the house. Then came the sound of answering voices, hushed and hurried, and the further sound of quick steps on the stairs and past the door behind which she stood.
At any time now, she surmised, they would discover the fact of her escape. And that would promptly solve for them the mystery of the locked door. So she knew that she would have to be ready. Their work, she concluded, would be hurried, and being hurried, would be ruthless.
