For once Billy’s polite little grin was absent from his countenance.
“Somebody outside trying to get in,” he chattered. “I see knob turn, so,” he illustrated with the butcher knife, “and so—three times.”
The detective’s hand went at once to his revolver.
“You’re sure of that, are you?” he said roughly to Billy.
“Sure, I sure!”
“Where’s that hysterical woman Lizzie?” queried Anderson. “She may get a bullet in her if she’s not careful.”
“She see too. She shut in closet—say prayers, maybe,” said Billy, without a smile.
The picture was a ludicrous one but not one of the little group laughed.
“Doctor, have you a revolver?” Anderson seemed to be going over the possible means of defense against this new peril.
“No.”