one side and stepped in closer to Wendy Washburn. The end of the automatic-barrel was within two feet of where a slender gold and platinum watch-chain crossed Wendy's vest-front.
"No talk from you, now: not a word!" Bud said to him, with a savagery which was as unexpected as the movement itself. "All I want from you, remember, is this bag!" He stooped and caught up the club-bag from the floor, placing it on the breakfast-table close beside the coffee-pot. I could see his left hand fumbling with the catches as he kept his eye on Wendy Washburn.
Then he suddenly stopped short.
"Back up against that wall," he bruskly commanded.
There was nothing for the other man to do but fall slowly back until his heels clumped against the wainscoating.
"Now stay there!" was Bud's order, as he placed the automatic close beside the club-bag on the edge of the table. It was so placed, however, that his hand could fall on it at a moment's notice. He intended to make sure of the contents of that bag, and it was plain that with only one free hand he had been unable to manage the catches. He could not afford to look down at them, for his eye, all the time, was bent on the silent man against the wall.
