Carlson picked up Tony’s automatic, turned off the light plug in the large bed room, and went back to Ina. She was at her post, her elbows on the little table, the receiver at her ear. She looked up at him with a grave smile.
“The police have been asking me a lot of questions. How about the man in the next room?”
“Dead. I’m sorry I killed him, but there was nothing else to do. Anyway,” said Carlson, “it makes our work easier. We won’t have to watch him, and his body will help hold the door a little longer.”
He looked quickly around the room.
“And now for our plan of defense until the police come. The barricade in the bedroom may hold till then. But, if it doesn’t then we will have to barricade ourselves again in here. We ought to be able to hold out easily.”
And then Carlson began dragging furniture from the bedroom into the dressing room until the latter was nearly full.
“I guess that’ll be enough,” he said. “They’re taking a long time fixing that fuse, but they can’t be too long for us.” He stood beside Ina once more, having done all that could be done for the present.
“Yes,” she said slowly, “and their bungling delay probably means our salvation. Anyhow, there’s nothing for it but to wait—for what is to come.”
Carlson had been looking at Ina Holden while they were talking, and he thought he had never seen a more charming girl. Her thick dark hair was unloosed and uncombed and fell over her shoulders. She was clad only in the coarse, sleeveless, night garment, which showed beautifully rounded arms to the shoulders. Her feet were bare. Her eyes were a pure and brilliant blue, shining under heavy but well arched brows. Her features were almost faultless, but the strong jaw and firm though adorable lips expressed unusual force and will power for a woman. A woman worth going through hell for—Carlson thought grimly.