"Don't move!" a voice hissed behind her. "I'll shoot if you do!"
She wanted to cry out, "Please don't shoot!" but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, which had suddenly gone dry. She had fallen forward against the door of the safe, and was curiously conscious how cold it felt. She was on the point of fainting, when in a rush of relief it dawned upon her that she knew the voice; it was not Moran's.
"Gordon!" she cried joyously, finding the use of her tongue as quickly as she had lost it, and scrambling to her feet. "It's me—Dorothy!"
With an exclamation as joyous as her own and equally surprised, he seized her by the shoulders, peering through the darkness into her face.
"Dorothy! What the...?" A lightning flash revealed them clearly to each other. "I told you not to try this."
"But what are you doing in town?" She clutched his arms, overcome by a fear greater than that for her own safety. "Gordon, Gordon, you must not stay here. There's a warrant out for you—no, no, not for that—for the Jensen shooting. You'll be arrested on sight."
"What?" He stared at her, amazed, and she nodded. "So that's their game now, eh? They've stooped even to that. By God!" He struck a match.
"Be careful," she warned him instantly. "The light—put it out. They'll see it from the street. But, oh, Gordon, why did you come?"
He thrilled at the anxiety in her voice.
"To find out what Moran is hiding here; and you're after the same thing, of course."