It was the pedlar, and in his hand he held the pistol which she had discarded.
“I only want you”—he nodded to the girl. “You other two women can come out here.” He jerked his head to the passage. Under the stairs was a big cupboard and he pulled the door open invitingly. “Get in here. If you make a noise, you’ll be sorry for yourselves.”
Alma’s eyes wandered longingly to the gun she had left in the corner, but before she could make a move he had placed himself between her and the weapon.
“Get inside,” said the pedlar, and Mirabelle was not much surprised when Aunt Alma meekly obeyed.
He shut the door on the two women and fastened the hatch.
“Now, young lady, put on your hat and be lively!”
He followed her up the stairs into her room and watched her while she found a hat and a cloak. She knew only too well that it was a waste of time even to temporize with him. He, for his part, was so exultant at his success that he grew almost loquacious.
“I suppose you saw the boys driving away and you didn’t remember that I was somewhere around? Was that you doing the shooting?”
She did not answer.
“It couldn’t have been Lew, or you’d have been dead,” he said. He was examining the muzzle of the pistol. “It was you all right.” He chuckled. “Ain’t you the game one! Sister, you ought to be——”