It was a formidable, long-barreled "Colt," which, with one sharp motion of the fingers, she promptly unlimbered, exposing the breech. In each cylinder chamber, she saw, lay a loaded cartridge. Once assured of this, she snapped shut the breech and balanced the gun in the purposeful embrace of her fingers.
"Now what?" she asked, with her eyes turned to her husband. But the triumph suddenly died out of her face.
She was only in time to hear Durkin's sharp cry of anger, and to see his quick spring through the wide door-way, as the guard-door of the elevator closed and the cage shot up into space.
"We've missed him!" he gasped, with a cry of rage, as he ran to the door through which MacNutt, in that moment of excitement, had disappeared.
Frank kept her eyes on Keenan. She, too, began to feel the sense of some vast finality in their moves and actions that night.
Keenan laughed. It was a dry and joyless laugh, but it was discouraging.
"What's on the floor above?" demanded Durkin, wheeling on him.
"The floor above," slowly responded the other, "is Richard Penfield's private offices, where his safe is, and where your friend, no doubt, is now depositing his valuables, behind a burglar-proof time-lock!"
"Oh, that's it, is it!" cried Durkin. He turned to the woman sharply.
"Frank, quick! Leave Keenan to me!"