More shuffling of feet and the dragging of something heavy, then the muffled voice of the woman:
“Maybe he found the phone—”
“Quick! Bust in that door!”
Carlson held his breath.
CRASH!
A terrific blow, as of from a battering ram, shook and shivered the strong oak door. But door and bolt still held. Carlson knew from the impact of the blow that some ponderous solid object had been driven against the door. And he know also that a few more such blows would shatter it, leaving only the bed and an overturned chiffonier and Tony’s body as a barricade.
So he quickly began dragging more chairs, tables and what not into the small dressing-room.
CRASH! The door fell inward against the head of the massive bed.
Carlson dragged a davenport into the little room, and then closed its door, locking and bolting it.