his squeak of a voice, as he waited impatiently at the open door.
"Chief," I said with all the solemnity I could summon up, "there's been worse than murder take place in this house to-day!"
"Yes, I sure saw you meant business with those two guns o' yours!" was his flippant retort.
"But I can explain every step of that. I was only acting as any one of your operatives would act under the circumstances," I said, as he began to half drag and half carry me across the room. For old Ezra Bartlett had repeated his impatient command that I be brought along.
"But you're no longer an operative of mine," the bulky man at my side reminded me. "And we get one every now and then, you know, who turns out bad!"
"Then ask Wendy Washburn who brought me into this house!" I told him, for I was desperate now. I was desperate enough to eat crow before the two of them.
"Wendy Washburn! Who's Wendy Washburn?" demanded my captor, staring about the room. And of course there was no Wendy Washburn there.
"He's a friend of mine," I told him.
