the black club-bag as she did so. But never once did her eyes leave that silent line as she continued to back step by step toward the heavy portières. And every eye in that line, as she went, followed her minutest movement. She stopped only when she felt the weight of the heavy draperies against her shoulders.
I drew away, suddenly, as her left hand swung the bag back through the portières and dropped it to the floor. Once this hand was free, she began feeling for the door, padding about to find the key that stood in the lock. But all the while she was studying that closely watching line of her enemies.
It was her intention, I saw, to swing the door shut, lock it and make her get-away before they could break through. It was a well-thought-out maneuver, but it had just one defect. There was just one factor she was not figuring on. And that was me.
