Their plans were at the
point of success. They had almost reached the door of Dunwody's
room, weapons in hand, when from above they heard a sharp command.
"Halt, there!" a woman cried to them.
They turned and looked up, arrested by the unmistakable quality in
the tones. They saw her leaning against the baluster of the stair,
one arm bound tightly to her side, the other resting a revolver
barrel along the baluster and glancing down it with a fearless eye.
She took a step or two lower down the stair, sliding the weapon
with her. "What are you doing there?" she demanded.
A half-humorous twist came to the mouth of Carlisle. He answered
quietly, as he raised a hand for silence:
"Just about what you might expect us to do. We're trying to take
care of ourselves. But how about yourself? I thought you were
with us, Madam. I had heard that you--"
"Come," she answered, lowering the weapon and stepping swiftly down
the stairs. "Come outside, where we can talk."
The three now passed out the open front door to the wide gallery,
which lay in the dim twilight untenanted.
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