"Any one of you trying to move," I told them with all the show of ferocity I could throw into the words, "will get a hole put through you so quick you'll never know what hit you!"
I could see Wendy Washburn, at the end of the line, luxuriate in one of his enigmatic and momentary smiles. But I had no time to worry over what it meant. I wanted that black club-bag back in my hand.
So I continued to veer off toward the portières, very much as Copperhead Kate had done before me.
I was taking no such chances, however, as that crimson-corniced lady of adventure, for as I edged in between the draperies, I advanced one hand with the automatic poised and ready, keeping it always ahead of me, just as with the other hand I continued to menace the patient-eyed row of figures standing for all the world like an awkward squad at the far side of the lighted room.
In two seconds, I told myself, I could be back in the lighted room with the bag in my hand. And I had them too well under cover to give them any chance for a breakaway.
What was more, I was watching them every moment of the time. My eye was on them even as I groped for the bag, found the handle, and clutched
