The astounding audacity of the girl's ruse, her clever acting in feigning horror to line the guards up at the cell door and the thrilling decisiveness with which she had used the little black gun in her hand set every drop of blood in his body afire.

No sooner was he outside his cell than he was the old Jim Kent, fighting man.

He whipped Carter's automatic out of its holster and, covering Pelly and the special constable, relieved them of their guns.
Behind him he heard Marette's voice, calm and triumphant, "Lock them in the cell, Mr.Kent!" He did not look at her, but swung his gun on Pelly and the special constable, and they backed through the door into the cell.

Carter had not moved.

He was looking straight at the girl, and the little black gun was leveled at his breast.