“Not a sound out of you!” warned the Unknown brutally, almost jabbing the revolver into her ribs. He wheeled on Bailey.
“Close that satchel,” he commanded, “and put it back where you found it!”
Bailey’s fist closed. He took a step toward his captor.
“You—” he began in a furious voice. But the steely glint in the eyes of the Unknown was enough to give any man pause.
“Jack!” pleaded Dale. Bailey halted.
“Do what he tells you!” Miss Cornelia insisted, her voice shaking.
A brave man may be willing to fight with odds a hundred to one—but only a fool will rush on certain death. Reluctantly, dejectedly, Bailey obeyed—stuffed the money back in the satchel and replaced the latter in its corner of shadows near the window.
“It’s the Bat—it’s the Bat!” whispered Lizzie eerily, and, for once her gloomy prophecies seemed to be in a fair way of justification, for “Blow out that candle!” commanded the Unknown sternly, and, after a moment of hesitation on Miss Cornelia’s part, the room was again plunged in darkness except for the red glow at the window.
This finished Lizzie for the evening. She spoke from a dry throat.
“I’m going to scream!” she sobbed hysterically. “I can’t keep it back!”