“And I would have been,” said Laura Lawson evenly, “if that secret service fool hadn’t been snooping outside my door.”
“Tunbridge?”
“Who else!”
“What did you do—croak him?”
“No, I didn’t. He’s not worth burning for.”
As they talked, the two dropped their artificial cloaks of refinement as if they had never been.
“It’s hanging in this state,” sneered Martin.
“What’s the difference! I rang for him, instead. When he knocked on the door, I opened up and beaned him with the poker. He’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache, but I dragged him into my room and tied him up, just to make sure.”
Dorothy’s heart sank to the very soles of her bare feet.
“Atta girl!” cheered Lawson. “That’s the way! And look here, Laura. Just to prove I’m on the straight with you—go over and frisk that kid yourself. She’s got the paper.”