Part 40 (1/2)

”Yes.”

He released the dishevelled girl, who shrank away from him. But the devil himself glowed in her black eyes.

”Go out of the room,” she said, ”if I'm to get the papers for you!”

”I can't trust you,” he answered. ”I'll turn my back.” And he walked over to the olive-wood box, where the weapons lay.

Standing there he heard, presently, the rustle of crumpling papers, heard a half-smothered sob, waited, listening, alert for further treachery on her part.

”Hurry!” he said.

A board creaked.

”Don't move again!” he cried. The floor boards creaked once more; and he turned like a flash to find her in her stocking feet, already halfway to where he stood. In either hand she held out a bundle of papers; and, as they faced each other, she took another step toward him.

”Stand where you are,” he warned her. ”Throw those papers on the floor!”

”I----”

”Do you hear!”

Looking him straight in the eyes she opened both hands; the papers fell at her feet, and with them dropped the two dagger-like steel pins which had held her hat.

”Now, go and put on your shoes,” he said contemptuously, picking up the papers and running over them. When he had counted them, he came back to where she was standing.

”Where are the others?”

”What others?”

”The remainder of the papers! You little devil, they're wrapped around your body! Go into that pantry! Go quick! Undress and throw out every rag you wear!”

She drew a deep, quivering breath, turned, entered the pantry and closed the door. Presently the door opened a little and her clothing dropped outside in a heap.

There were papers in her stockings, papers st.i.tched to her stays, basted inside her skirts. A roll of drawings traced on linen lay on the floor, still retaining the warmth of her body around which they had been wrapped.

He pulled the faded embroidered cover from the old piano and knocked at the pantry door.

”Put that on,” he said, ”and come out.”

She emerged, swathed from ankle to chin, her flushed face shadowed by her fallen ma.s.s of dark hair. He turned his flash light on the cupboard, but discovered nothing more. Then he picked up her hat, clothes, and shoes, laid them on the pantry shelf, and curtly bade her go back and dress.

”May I have the lamp and that looking gla.s.s?”

”If you like,” he said, preoccupied with the papers.

While she was dressing, he repacked the olive-wood box. She emerged presently, carrying the lamp, and he took it from her hurriedly, not knowing whether she might elect to throw it at his head.

While she was putting on her jacket he stood watching her with perplexed and sombre gaze.

”I think,” he remarked, ”that I'll take you with me and drop you at the Orangeville jail on my way to town. Be kind enough to start toward the door.”