"No," growled Perkins from the seat in which he had crouched immediately after eating. "Keep away from me, or I'll cut your heart out!"
"Shut up!" snapped DuQuesne. "Remember what I said?"
"I haven't done anything," snarled the other.
"I said I would throw you out if you made another break," DuQuesne informed him evenly, "and I meant it. If you can't talk decently, keep still. Understand that you are to keep off Miss Vaneman, words and actions. I am in charge of her, and I will put up with no interference whatever. This is your last warning."
"How about Spencer, then?"
"I have nothing to say about her, she's not mine," responded DuQuesne with a shrug.
An evil light appeared in Perkins' eyes and he took out a wicked-looking knife and began to strop it carefully upon the leather of the seat, glaring at his victim the while.
"Well, I have something to say...." blazed Dorothy, but she was silenced by a gesture from Margaret, who calmly took the pistol from her pocket, jerked the slide back, throwing a cartridge into the chamber, and held the weapon up on one finger, admiring it from all sides.
"Don't worry about his knife. He has been sharpening it for my benefit for the last month. He doesn't mean anything by it."