Pape eyed her interestedly and decided that she meant the implied threat. The puzzle of the Lauderdales, far from being solved, was growing more intricate. Why should these two delightful and, he felt sure, innocent persons so fear the prospective visit—the old man from his lawyer and friend, his daughter from the personable and wealthy young real-estater whom Irene Sturgis had declared to be her most ardent suitor? Truly, the case was one for a show of blind, dumb and deaf faith.
The increase of tension as heavy steps began to scroop up the stairs seemed to emanate from the figure of Jane Lauderdale. Straight and strong she stood in the center of the room, her face more marble-like than the mantel. Her head was thrown up in an attitude of alert listening. The black something in her right hand continued to command the suspect of circumstance.
He, although in a somewhat easy attitude, demonstrated that he knew how to behave when “covered.” He did not so much as glance toward the window. And he showed no tendency to cough. His one deflection was a scarcely audible whisper.
“If I should have to sneeze, you won’t shoot me, Jane? If you do, you’ll miss a lot of love.”
At the first light rap on the door, Lauderdale’s knees seemed to weaken and he sat down upon one end of the Davenport. The younger pair stiffened; held their breath; eyed each other.
A second knock sounded, then a more imperative third. An advisory discussion outside, too low-voiced for intelligibility, ended in a fourth demand for admittance, knuckled to carry to the rear of the house and waken any sleeper within.
At each repetition the blind man had shuddered and gripped harder the arm of the Davenport. Now he flung out a summoning hand toward his daughter. She, with her trio of eyes on their silent guest—her own blazing blue pair and the single black one of the gun—crossed and bent to her father’s rasp:
“If they should force the lock—should batter down the door——”
Jane made no attempt to reassure him. At a step toward them of the stranger she retraced her steps and gestured him back with the pistol, silently but most significantly.
Pape, the while, threw a trusting smile into the three eyes, then strode straight toward them. Close to Jane’s ear he whispered: