Page:Arthur Stringer - The Door of Dread.djvu/295

 It was a scream that could not be altogether stifled. Even a feather mattress could not have completely muffled it. But the poised hand came down on it, like a pianist's soft-pedal on a concerto's loudest chord.

The smaller man swore softly as he dodged up into his seat. The cry, it is true, could not be repeated, for the great engulfing paw had closed over the girl's face and promptly prohibited the inhalation of her next breath. The human derrick, above the whispered vitriolic blasphemies of the smaller man, shouted wrathfully to the driver to get his car under way. But before it could even gather speed the blue-coat was out beside the running-board. Sadie did not even object to having her breath cut off, for in another second the officer himself had swung open the cab-door. And that, she knew, meant rescue.

"What's doin' in here?" he demanded. Then the belligerency went out of his face, for the smaller man had leaned forward into the light. Yet nothing, so far as Sadie could see, passed between them.

"Hello, that you, Spike?" was the officer's