"Ah!"—as his practised eye swiftly swept the walls and finally rested on the group of electric buttons—"the house is wired for it."
"You are right, and it is an exceedingly convenient arrangement," dryly responded the girl.
"Thunder and lightning! I swear I won't sit here to be caught like a rat in a trap," snarled her companion, as he started wildly to his feet and glanced around him for some way of escape.
"Sit down!" and the pistol in Mollie's hand was again raised menacingly, while footfalls were now plainly heard ascending the steps leading to the entrance to the house.
The man dropped with a quick, indrawn breath, as his eye fell upon the white, slim finger that rested on the trigger of the revolver. Then a sudden thought struck him and he breathed more freely.
"But they can't get in," he observed with a chuckle of exultation, for he told himself that if she was obliged to get up to admit the policemen he would have an opportunity to make a bolt for the nearest window and have a fair chance to escape by means of a balcony which could be plainly discerned outside.
"You are mistaken," his fair captor replied, "for when I touched the button that governs the communication with the station-house I also pressed another that unlocks the front door. Allow me to say for the information of any of your friends who may be followers of your profession, in case you should have an opportunity to communicate with them, that almost every room in the house is wired in the same way."
"Hell and furies!" groaned the unfortunate victim, and actually writhing in his chair, for at that moment steps and voices were heard in the hall below, and he knew that he was inextricably "bagged." Involuntarily he clapped his hand to his pistol-pocket.
"Sit still!" commanded the brave girl, and she leaned forward, her eyes blazing like two points of flame. "Another movement and I fire."
He knew she would, for there was a relentless purpose in her watchful gaze, and he settled back limp and white to await the inevitable.