“I want you four men,—nobody else.”
Recklow led the way up a snow-covered stoop, drew a key from his pocket, fitted it, and pulled open the door.
A musty chill struck their faces as they entered the darkened and empty hallway. Involuntarily every man drew his pistol.
“I must ask you to do exactly what I tell you to do,” she said calmly.
“Certainly,” said Recklow, caressing his white moustache and striving to pierce the gloom with his keen eyes.
Then Tressa took her husband’s hand. “Come,” she said. They mounted the stairway together; and the three others followed with pistols lifted.
There was a vague grey light on the second floor; the broken rear shutters let it in.
As though she seemed to know her way, the girl led them forward, opened a door in the wall, and disclosed a bare, dusty room in the next house.
Through this she stepped; the others crept after her with weapons ready. She opened a second door, turned to the four men.
“Wait here for me. Come only when I call,” she whispered.