I don't mean to say that he isn't smooth and crafty, and that he won't fight like a rat when he's cornered! But I do believe that if he and Penfield could get in touch today, here in Genoa, he would hand over every dollar of those securities, and give up the job, and get back to his familiar old lairs among the New York poolrooms and wardheelers and petty criminals where he knows his enemies and his friends!" Durkin strode toward the door impatiently.

He hesitated for a moment, but had already stretched out his hand to turn the key when he drew back, silently, step by step.
For a second time, on the panel, without, the low knock was sounding.
Frank watched the closet door draw to and close on Durkin; then she called out, with assumed and cheery unconcern, "Come in." She did not look up for a moment, for she was still busy with her hair.
The door opened and closed.
"I trust I do not intrude ?" Frank's brush fell from her hand, before she even slowly wheeled and looked, for it was the suave and well-modulated baritone of Pobloff.
"What does this mean ?" she demanded vacantly, retreating before his steady and scornful gaze.
"Simply, madam, that you and I seem seldom able to anticipate each other's calls!" She made a pretense of going to the electric signal.
"It is quite useless," explained the Russian quietly.

"The wires are disconnected." He took out his watch and glanced at it.

"Indeed, as a demonstration that others enjoy privileges which you sometimes exert, in two minutes every light in this room will be cut off!" The woman was panting a little by this time, for her thoughts were of Durkin and his danger, as much as of herself.

She struggled desperately to regain her self-possession, for there was no mistaking the quiet but grim determination written on the Russian's pallid face.