Martin Lawson’s hard and cruel mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “The world is full of liars,” he said equably, “but your husband doesn’t play that kind of a racket, Laura—anyway, not to you.”
“Then prove it by giving me that paper!” his wife held out her hand.
“Nothing doing, Sweetheart. The formula will be perfectly safe with me.”
He started to put it in an inside pocket, when Laura Lawson sprang for the paper. She grasped his wrist. There was a tussle and the folded sheet fell to the floor. Professor, seated on his haunches and very interested in these exciting proceedings, dove forward and snapped it up. For half a moment he shook the paper as though he took it for a new species of rat. Then as they went for him, he darted between Martin’s legs and scampered out of the room.
“You big goop!” flared his wife. “Why didn’t you pot the cur!”
She rushed out of the room after Professor while Martin stared rather stupidly at the gun in his hand. Suddenly his eyes took on a particularly hard glint and he swung round on Dorothy.
“This,” he rasped, “is the second time you’ve got me in wrong with my wife, Miss Janet Jordan. And there just ain’t going to be no third time, kid!”
“Wha—what are you going to do, Mr. Lawson?” She was still playing the terrified, innocent Janet, but she no longer feared the man. During the Lawsons’ struggle, she had prepared herself for something like this. She had also shifted her position and was standing near the open door, now several yards away.
“You’re going to answer my questions, Janet—and answer them truthfully, or you’ll do your sleepwalking in another world after this.” He menaced her with the automatic, “It’s the bunk, isn’t it? The sleepwalking, I mean.”
“It sure is, Mr. du Val!” drawled Dorothy with a sweet smile.