“It’s going to be even more embarrassing for you in a moment or two, Miss Not Janet Jordan! You know too much to live. Who in thunderation are you—a government dick?”
“That’s right, big boy. I also happen to be Janet’s double cousin.”
“You’re her double, I’ll voucher that,” agreed du Val alias Lawson. “And all this high-hat cockiness ain’t going to do you one little bit of good. What’s the moniker, kid? Make it snappy, I’m pressed for time.”
“Dorothy Dixon’s my name. And—meet Flash!” Her right hand gave a quick twist and Martin Lawson dropped the exploding automatic with a scream of mingled rage and pain. She sprang for the revolver, covered the man and retrieved the knife from the floor just behind him. “Sit down over there!” She pointed to a chair. “You’re not really hurt, you know. Flash only skinned your knuckles. Better tie them up in your handkerchief though. You’re ruining the rug.”
Gretchen’s blond head peered round the door frame. “Oh, Dorothy!” she shrilled, and rushed into the room. “Are you hurt? Did he wound you?” She flung herself on her friend in a frenzy of fright and hysterics.
From the hall came Laura Lawson’s voice. “Martin!” she called. “They’re out in front of the house. They’ve got the car! Hurry!”
Lawson wasted no time. While Dorothy struggled with the excited Gretchen, he nipped out of the room and was gone.
“That tears it!” cried Miss Dixon, freeing herself from the little maid’s embrace, and she dove into the passage.
Under the gallery she stopped short. There was nobody in sight, but from the staircase came two sharp detonations of a revolver which were answered by two more from the dining room. Then as she moved warily forward, Bill Bolton ran into the hall with Ashton Sanborn close at his heels. Dorothy saw them disappear up the stairs and ran after them.
At the top of the stairs she spied them standing outside a bedroom door. She hurried to join them. “Hello! Gone to cover?”