The other woman had turned a ghastly white; for a second or two she remained dumb, then, dry-lipped: 369

“Above—the knee,” she stammered; but there was scarcely a sound from the blanched lips that formed the words.

“Pistols?”

“Yes.”

“Loaded? Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“Clips?”

“No.”

“Unstrap them!”

The woman turned, bent almost double, twisting her supple body entirely around; but Ilse Dumont was at her side like a flash and caught her wrist as she withdrew her hand from the hem of her fluffy skirt.