At the desk, with a sudden swift movement, she thrust the papers to one side and dropped her hand on the revolver. At the same moment Keith's arm shot out and his hand fell, covering hers.
She saw his young face flush and harden and his mouth set into stern lines.
"Susan, you'll be good enough, please, to take your hand off that," he said then sharply.
There was a moment's tense silence. Susan's eyes, agonized and pleading, were on his face. But Keith could not see that. He could only hear her words a moment later—light words, with a hidden laugh in them, yet spoken with that same curious breathlessness.
"Faith, honey, an' how can I, with your own hand holdin' mine so tight?"
Keith removed his hand instantly. His set face darkened.
"This is not a joke, Susan, and I shall have to depend on your honor to let that revolver stay where it is. Unfortunately I am unable to SEE whether I am obeyed or not."
It was Susan's turn to flush. She drew back at once, leaving the weapon uncovered on the desk between them.
"I'm not takin' the pistol, Keith." The laugh was all gone from Susan's voice now. So, too, was the breathlessness. The voice was steady, grave, but very gentle. "We take matches an' pizen an' knives away from CHILDREN—not from grown men, Keith. The pistol is right where you can reach it—if you want it."
[Illustration: KEITH'S ARM SHOT OUT AND HIS HAND FELL, COVERING HERS]