'I'll do it again,' she said, with a note of hard resolve.
'Oh, no, you won't, my girl,' said Racksole; and he pulled out his
revolver, cocked it, raised his hand.
'Put down that plaything of yours,' he said firmly.
'No,' she answered.
'I shall shoot.'
She pressed her lips together.
'I shall shoot,' he repeated. 'One - two - three.'
Bang, bang! He had fired twice, purposely missing her. Miss
Spencer never blenched. Racksole was tremendously surprised -
and he would have been a thousandfold more surprised could he
have contrasted her behaviour now with her abject terror on the
previous evening when Nella had threatened her.
'You've got a bit of pluck,' he said, 'but it won't help you. Why
won't you let us pass?'
As a matter of fact, pluck was just what she had not, really; she
had merely subordinated one terror to another. She was
desperately afraid of Racksole's revolver, but she was much more
afraid of something else.
'Why won't you let us pass?'
'I daren't,' she said, with a plaintive tremor; 'Tom put me in charge.'
That was all. The men could see tears running down her poor
wrinkled face.
Theodore Racksole began to take off his light overcoat.
'I see I must take my coat off to you,' he said, and he almost
smiled. Then, with a quick movement, he threw the coat over Miss
Spencer's head and flew at her, seizing both her arms, while Prince
Aribert assisted.
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