His trained ear recognized the sound of cocking triggers. The next moment a heavy body bumped against the door of the cupboard and the key turned in the lock.
“Got you!” said the voice, triumphantly. “Keep still; if you try and break out I shall shoot you.”
“All right,” said Mr. Travers, hastily; “I won't move.”
“Better not,” said the voice. “Mind, I've got a gun pointing straight at you.”
“Point it downwards, there's a good girl,” said Mr. Travers, earnestly; “and take your finger off the trigger. If anything happened to me you'd never forgive yourself.”
“It's all right so long as you don't move,” said the voice; “and I'm not a girl,” it added, sternly.
“Yes, you are,” said the prisoner. “I saw you. I thought it was an angel at first. I saw your little bare feet and—”
A faint scream interrupted him.
“You'll catch cold,” urged Mr. Travers.
“Don't you trouble about me,” said the voice, tartly.