They listened. There was
plenty of commotion in the street--no sound at all on the stairs.
"We've done it!" he muttered. "They're after the car! They'll catch
Dolly!"
"He'll bluff it out!" she whispered.
"Sure! Don't let your hands tremble like that, you little fool! We're
safe, I tell you! Get on with your work."
Now the two were three or four yards away from the cubicle in which I was,
but almost within a couple of feet of Mr. Bundercombe's. From where I was
sitting I saw suddenly a strange thing. I saw Mr. Bundercombe's left arm
shoot out from behind the curtain. In a moment he had the man by the
throat. His other hand traveled over his clothes like lightning.
It was all over almost before I could think. Rodwell was on his feet with
a livid mark on his throat, and Mr. Bundercombe had stepped back with a
little shining revolver in his hand which he was carefully stowing away in
his pocket.
"Sorry to be a trifle hasty, Mr. Rodwell," he said. "I saw the shape of
this little weapon in your pocket and it didn't seem altogether agreeable
to me. We are not great at firearms over this side, you know."
Blanche and Rodwell stared at him. To complete their stupefaction I
stepped out of my cubicle.
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