“No time!” she echoed, sharply regarding him.
“I should say not. There’s the devil to pay.”
“What do you mean?”
“Or worse than the devil—that’s Nick Carter!”
“What of him?”
“He’s coming here again.”
“For what?”
The last came with vicious asperity from the lips of the surprised woman.
The color had left her cheeks. The light of sensuous affection, the bestowal of which had turned this man into a knave, a traitor to his trust at police headquarters, and made him her dupe and tool—this light of passion had suddenly died from her eyes, displaced by the vengeful fire with which she had last parted from the man he had just mentioned.
Darting to the door, Vic hurriedly turned the key, then swept around, as quick and lithe as a panther in her movements, and grasped Hyde by the shoulder.