"It's mother," said old Robinson, starting for the door.
"Let her remain outside for the present," ordered Garrison. "Get on up the stairs."
The bell rang again. The Robinsons, resigned to defeat, ascended to the hall above, with the gun yawning just at the rear.
Once more Garrison called out:
"Dorothy—where are you?"
"Here!" cried Dorothy, her voice still muffled behind a solid door.
"The room at the back. I can't get out!"
Garrison issued another order to Theodore, whom he knew to be the governing spirit in the fight against himself and Dorothy:
"Put down one hand and get out your keys—but don't attempt to remove anything else from your pocket, or I'll plug you on the spot."
Theodore cast a defiant glance across the leveled gun to the steady, cool eyes behind it, and drew forth the keys, as directed.
"If that's you, Jerold—please, please get me out—the door is locked!" called Dorothy, alarmed by each second of delay. "Where are you now?"