“Well,” with a shrug of resignation, “I’ve lost and must pay. Here,” opening the mesh-bag that she carried, “is the—”
She threw up her hand, and a nasty little automatic was covering the Secretary’s heart.
He gave a shout—and sat perfectly still. Mrs. Clephane, with an exclamation of fear, laid her hand on Harleston’s arm. Carpenter was impassive. Harleston suppressed a smile.
“Tell them if I can shoot straight, Guy,” Mrs. Spencer said pleasantly; “and meanwhile do you all keep your exact distance and position. Speak your piece, Mr. Harleston—tell his Excellency if I can shoot.”
“I am quite ready to assume it without the testimony of Mr. Harleston, or ocular demonstration in this immediate direction,” the Secretary remarked with a weak grin.
“Tell him, if I can shoot, Guy,” she ordered.
“I’ve never seen her better,” Harleston admitted “though I’m not at all fearful for your Excellency. Mrs. Spencer won’t shoot; she’s only bluffing. If you’ll say the word, I’ll engage to disarm her.”
“Meanwhile what happens to his Excellency?” Madeline Spencer mocked.
“Nothing whatever—except a few nervous moments.”
“Try it, Mr. Secretary, and find out!” she laughed across the levelled revolver.