He dove in through the door, without even waiting to swing it shut after him. And in two shakes I was up out of that seat and out of that automobile and skipping across the asphalt pools.
"Me for the firing-line!" I announced to the midnight air, as I made for that still open door.
I still had Copperhead Kate's automatic in the slack of her over-abundant waist. Never in all my life had I shot off a pistol and I doubt if I could have pulled a trigger without shutting my eyes, yet I felt decidedly better when I held that black-metaled fire-arm once more in my hand. For the house, as I stepped into it, was as dark as pitch, and I had no idea of what the opening of the first door might confront me with.
So I stood there for a minute or two, straining both my ears and my eyes. But I saw nothing, and heard nothing. I groped my way deeper into the house. Then I suddenly stopped, and listened again. A moment later I turned to the right, felt my way through an open door, and listened still again.
This time I distinctly caught the sound of a voice. It was a woman's voice. It was not a loud voice, for it came, apparently, from a closed room, even
