In his hand he held a small black pistol.

         It was aimed at her.

         He considered her dressing gown and slippers.

        'Get dressed,' he ordered.

        'Please, can we talk about this?'

        'Get dressed.' His tone was more threatening.

        She shivered.

        Think, she told herself sternly.

        There must be a way out of this.

From The Littlest Detective in London, p5. All Rights Reserved copyright Suzy Brownlee 2008