“Is that you, Briggs?”
The postman was “Briggs” to the hill.
“Yes.”
“If I slide a letter out under the door, will you take it to the post-office for me? It's important.”
“All right. Slide.”
She had put it partially under the door when a doubt crept into her mind. That was not Briggs's voice. She made a frantic effort to draw the letter back, but stronger fingers than hers had it beyond the door. She clutched, held tight. Then she heard a chuckle, and found herself with a corner of the envelope in her hand.
There were voices outside, Briggs's and Rudolph's.
“Guess that's for me.”
“Like hell it is.”
She ran madly up the stairs again, and tried with shaking fingers to screw the door-hinges into place again. She fully expected that they would kill her. She heard Briggs go out, and after a time she heard Rudolph trying to kick in the house door. Then, when the last screw was back in place, she heard Herman's heavy step outside, and Rudolph's voice, high, furious, and insistent.