Page:Arthur Stringer - The Door of Dread.djvu/122

 nose shadowing the elongated potato-lip which so unequivocally announced Dorgan's ancestry, she decided that he was not altogether an agreeable type to "double-cross." The mere fact that he had battled his way back to her house was sign enough of his bull-headedness.

But her feeling, as she confronted him, was not one of actual fear. He was, after all, merely a "rough-neck." He was nothing more than a lathe-worker who had gone wrong, a mechanic who had stolen factory secrets and was bent on financing his stolen papers. And if Kestner or Wilsnach only got back in time there was still a fighting chance of slipping out of the man's clutches.

"So they did things to yuh, too!" repeated Sadie.

Dorgan, ignoring her exclamation, sank into a chair. He turned about, with a strangely bird-like movement, and sat studying her out of his one good eye. A look of grim approbation crept over his battered face.

"You're about the nerviest skirt I ever hitched up with!" he finally ejaculated.

Sadie, having absorbed the full significance of those words, breathed easier.

"Oh, yuh weren't without your nerve, takin' a