Tap . . . tap . . . tappity . . . tap.
The taps were on the door, slow, deliberate, unmistakable. The effect on Lew Brady was remarkable. His big body seemed to shrink, his puffed face grew suddenly hollow.
Tap . . . tap . . . tappity . . . tap.
The hand that went up to Brady’s mouth was trembling. Ella looked from the man to Lola, and she saw, to her amazement, that Lola had grown pale under her rouge. Brady stumbled to the door, and the sound of his heavy breathing sounded loud in the silence.
“Come in,” he muttered, and flung the door wide open.
It was Dick Gordon who entered.
He looked from one to the other, laughter in his eyes.
“The old Frog tap seems to frighten some of you,” he said pleasantly.