“I oughtn't to stay. I don't want to—I won't,” Duane replied, perplexed and stubborn.
“But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here.”
“Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search every room and corner in this old house. If they found me here I couldn't start a fight. You might be hurt. Then—the fact of my being here—”
Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step toward the door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold of him to detain him. She was as strong and supple as a panther. But she need not have been either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her hand was enough to make Duane weak.
“Up yet, Ray?” came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too eager to be natural.
“No. I'm in bed reading. Good night,” instantly replied Miss Longstreth, so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the difference between man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane to hide in the closet. He slipped in, but the door would not close altogether.
“Are you alone?” went on Longstreth's penetrating voice.
“Yes,” she replied. “Ruth went to bed.”
The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Longstreth half entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and indistinctly another man.
Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed control as well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room. When he had glanced around he went out and closed the door.