Then suddenly the special constable dropped his arms with a coarse laugh.

"A pretty trick," he said, "but the bluff won't work!" "Oh, but it will!" came the reply.
The little black gun was shifted to him, even as the constable's fingers touched his revolver holster.

With half-smiling lips, Marette's eyes blazed at him.
"Please put up your hands," she commanded.
The constable hesitated; then his fingers gripped the butt of his gun.
Kent, holding his breath, saw the almost imperceptible tensing of Marette's body and the wavering of Pelly's arms over his head.

Another moment and he, too, would have called the bluff if it were that.

But that moment did not come.