THE COMING OF THE ENEMY No matter how charming she may be, a man can never enjoy being outplayed at his own game by a woman.

The piquant face fronting me swam in a mist as a sudden rush of anger swept from me all admiration.

I had been played with, outwitted from the start, every movement checkmated--even now she was actually laughing at my helplessness.

My first wild impulse was to spring forward, and wrest the revolver from her hand; yet there was that in her attitude, in the expression of her eyes, which made me hesitate.

Would she shoot?
Would the sense of duty to her cause actually induce her to fire at me?
A moment before, I should not have deemed it possible, but now, it seemed to me, she was desperate enough to do even this.