He turned to his prisoner: "Is everything here?" he asked sharply.
"Yes."
He picked up her wrist bag and opened it, but discovered only some
money, a handkerchief, a spool of thread and packet of needles.
There was a glass lamp on the table. He managed to light it finally;
turned off his flash light, and examined the contents of the box again
thoroughly. Then he came back to where she was seated.
"Get up," he said.
She looked at him sullenly without moving.
"I'm in a hurry," he repeated; "get up. I'm going to search you."
At that she bounded to her feet.
"What!" she exclaimed furiously.
But he caught hold of her, held her, untied the handkerchief, freeing
her wrists.
"Now, pull out those papers you have concealed under your clothing,"
he said impatiently. And, as she made no motion to comply: "If you
don't, I'll do it for you!"
"You dare lay your hand on me!" she flamed.
"You treacherous little cat, do you think I'll hesitate?" he retorted.
"Do you imagine I retain any respect for you or your person? Give me
those papers!"
"I have no papers!"
"You are lying. Listen to me once for all; I've a train to catch and a
steamer to catch, and I'm going to do both. And if you don't instantly
hand out those papers you've concealed I'll have no more compunction
in taking them by force than I'd have in stripping an ear of corn!
Make up your mind and make it up quick!"
"You mean you'd strip--me!" she stammered, scarlet to her hair.
"That's what I mean, you lying little thief. That's just what I mean.
Kick and squall as you like, I'll take those papers with me if I have
to take your clothing too!"
Breathless, infuriated, she looked desperately around her, caught
sight of the Kurdish dagger, leaped at it; and for the third time
found herself struggling in his arms.
"Don't!" she gasped. "Let me go! I--I'll give you what you want----"
"Do you mean it?"
"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.