WHITEWASH
But there was no leisure for questions or answers.
A smothered exclamation sounded from within, a quick rush, and through the open door they saw the other man close with the tall figure of the woman. Her hand was slowly forced above her head. In it she held a small revolver. The fingers clinched, there was a sharp report, a whiff of smoke—a hole in the ceiling.
Philippa moved as if to run out. The grip on her arm was tightened.
Down the main corridor a confusion of hastening feet and frightened voices announced the panic caused by the shot. She saw the steel handcuffs slip over the helpless hands of Madame Tollé. A third man slipped by them and quickly gathered up the scattered baggage, the despatch-box, and two hand-bags. In another instant they were surrounded by anxious, inquiring faces. She was being conducted to the main corridor; presently they would be in the saloon.
Philippa staggered and gasped.
"Brace up," said her captor, not unkindly. "I'll take you through as if you had nothing to
