But there was something about Ruth and her attitude as she stood facing him that made him pause despite himself. For in that moment the anger of the young director quite matched Lieberstein’s. And she possessed one great advantage over him in that her mind became more clear and calm the greater rage she felt and functioned with an almost uncanny swiftness and accuracy.
“Don’t come another step!” she commanded in a voice that was as clear and cold as the dropping of icicles. “Under the circumstances I wouldn’t mind much if this gun did go off. And if you come much closer, maybe it will. Keep that hand up, please!”
The command was so sharp and was accompanied by such a suggestive motion of the shotgun that Lieberstein obeyed almost automatically. His right hand that had been wandering toward his belt joined the left above his head.
Ruth was excited and strangely exhilarated. She was holding the scoundrel! If she could only keep this up for a short time longer Helen would be back with some one from Knockout Point. Her ears strained for the sound of approaching aid.
“You’ve got the drop on me this time,” snarled Lieberstein, his face purple with rage. “Ruth Fielding, the great director, on the job again! You’d better keep out of this, you——”
“Stop!”
It was Mary’s voice. She and Ellen had crept close to Ruth. Mary grasped the heavy cane. Ellen had raised the chair above her head, ready for action.
“You stop!” cried Mary again, her eyes steely as she looked at Lieberstein. “Ruth Fielding is my friend. She has been kind to Ellen and me. You are a fiend. Don’t you dare call her names.”
This new attack seemed to drive Lieberstein beyond himself with fury. He ignored Ruth and the shotgun and charged down upon Mary, face livid.
“Hands up—you!”