happened, I was stationed there in front of the portières with a black-barreled automatic in either hand and fire in my eye. And it was my turn, I knew, to take a hand in the little drama.
"Put up those hands," I told the startled woman as she turned and stared at me with empty and expressionless eyes.
"For the love of Mike!" she murmured, a little stupid with surprise.
"Then get back in that line! Get back there, quick, or you'll be swallowing a dose of the same bitters you've been talking about giving every one else!"
Copperhead Kate fell back, step by step, until she stood between the fat doctor and Ezra Tweedie Bartlett himself. I caught a grunt of relief from that rat-faced old rascal as she did so. But from the man in evening clothes, at the far end of that line, came a quiet but distinct sound of laughter.
I turned on him sharply, but he didn't seem in the least afraid of me.
"This is an awfully uncomfortable position, you know," he quietly reminded me. "And under the circumstances, I think you'll admit, altogether unnecessary."
My first impulse was to resent that speech, as
