"_It was not paper I meant to have_"
With a bound she took her stand. She was white as death and greatly
excited. Watching her curiously, the crafty villain noted the quick
throbbing of her throat and the feverish grip on the pistol.
"Time is galloping," he remarked.
She gave a gasp, opened her lips and essayed to sing. An awful,
indescribable murmur was all that could be heard. Stiffening herself,
she resolutely calmed down her agitation and tried again. The result was
but little better than before. Turning with a cry, she looked with
horror-stricken eyes into the unmoved, slightly sardonic face of the man
behind her.
"I cannot sing! You have frightened away my voice. I cannot raise that
note even to save my father's life. I'm choking, choking." Then as she
caught the devilish gleam lighting up his eye, she added, "You will
never have those thousands! The safe is closed to us both."
He laughed, a very low, cautious laugh, but it made her eyes distend
with uncertainty and dread.
"You fail to do justice to my forethought," said he.
"I took this into my calculations. I know women; they can be wicked
enough, but they lack coolness. Let me see now what I can do. I cannot
sing, but I have a little _aide de camp_ which can."
Walking away from her, he approached a small table on which stood an
object she had never seen in that room before. It was covered with a
cloth, and as he removed this cloth, she reeled with surprise; then she
became still with hope and the rush of fresh and overpowering emotions.
A graphophone stood revealed, one of the finest quality. It was set to
play the air so often on her lips, and in another moment that keen, high
note rang through the room,--that and no more.
It answered. Slowly, softly, after one breathless moment, the door they
both watched with fascinated gaze swung slowly ajar, just as they had
seen it do at the beginning of this interview, and Johnson, coming
forward, pulled it open with a jerk and began to fumble among the
contents of the safe.
She could have killed him easily. He had forgotten--but so had she, and
there was no one else by to remind her. Had there been, he would have
seen a strange spectacle, for no sooner had Johnson's hand struck those
shelves and minute drawers, than Grace Lee's whole attitude and
expression changed. From a terrified, incapable woman, she became again
her old self, strong, self-controlled, watchful. Creeping up behind him,
she looked over his shoulders as he examined with his quick, experienced
eye the various papers he drew out, noting his anger and growing
disappointment as he found them unavailable for immediate use. Conscious
of her presence, his rage grew till it shot forth in words. Not stinting
oaths, he whirled on her after a moment and asked where the securities
were. "_You_ meant to have them; you know where the ready money is. Show
me, show me at once or----"
Then a great anguish passed across her face, a look of farewell to
hopes sweet and dearly cherished. If he saw it he did not heed. All his
evil, indomitable will shone in the eye he turned up askance at her, and
though she held the means of killing him in her hand, she bowed to that
will, and leaning over him, she whispered in his ear:
"It was not paper I meant to have, but--but something else--I----"
She stopped, for breath was leaving her. His slim, assured hand was
straying toward a certain knob hidden partly from sight, but plain to
the touch if his fingers crept that way.
"Listen!" She was gasping now, but her hand laid on his shoulder
emphasized her words. "There are jewels at the other end; Mrs.
Stoughton's bridal jewels. They are worth thousands. I--I--meant to take
those. They are in a compartment under that lower drawer. Yes,
yes--there they are; take them and be gone. I--I have lost--but you will
give me back my father? See! there are not many minutes left. Oh, be
merciful and----"