"No. I'm in bed, reading. Good night, Uncle," instantly replied Sally, so calmly and naturally that I marveled at the difference between man and woman. Perhaps that was the difference between love and hate.
"Are you alone?" went on Sampson's penetrating voice, colder now.
"Yes," replied Sally.
The door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. Sampson half entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. His leveled gun did not have to move an inch to cover me. Behind him I saw Wright and indistinctly, another man.
"Well!" gasped Sampson. He showed amazement. "Hands up, Russ!"
I put up my hands quickly, but all the time I was calculating what chance I had to leap for my gun or dash out the light. I was trapped. And fury, like the hot teeth of a wolf, bit into me. That leveled gun, the menace in Sampson's puzzled eyes, Wright's dark and hateful face, these loosened the spirit of fight in me. If Sally had not been there I would have made some desperate move.
Sampson barred Wright from entering, which action showed control as well as distrust.
"You lied!" said Sampson to Sally. He was hard as flint, yet doubtful and curious, too.
"Certainly I lied," snapped Sally in reply. She was cool, almost flippant. I awakened to the knowledge that she was to be reckoned with in this situation. Suddenly she stepped squarely between Sampson and me.
"Move aside," ordered Sampson sternly.