"He—he—has a revolver. He's—outside—somewhere——"
"I'll find him, ma'am."
There seemed to be no need for explanation. Ragan's white face showed that he understood. And now Clancy, amazed that she had not comprehended before, also understood. Her hands went swiftly up over her eyes as though to shut out some horrible sight. The fact that Don Carey had pursued her half an hour ago with murderous intent was of no importance now.
She heard Ragan's heavy feet racing across the room and out of the house. She heard the piteous wail from Mrs. Ragan's mouth. Then, amazed, as she removed her hands from her eyes, she saw Sophie Carey, mistress of herself again, leap from the couch and race to a window, throwing it open.
"Ragan," she called. "Ragan!"
"Ma'am?" faintly, from the darkness, Ragan answered.
"Come here." Firm, commanding, Sophie Carey's voice brooked no refusal.
"Coming, ma'am," called Ragan.
A moment later he was in the living-room again.
"Ragan, go up-stairs," commanded his mistress.