"Let us suppose a few things, Miss Ogden," he said. "Suppose my
price is a million dollars. Suppose I need money very badly and my
uncle has left me a house containing that amount in cash. Suppose
I choose to consider that that money is mine--then it wouldn't be
hard to suppose, would it, that I'd make a pretty sincere attempt
to get away with it?"
Dale summoned all her fortitude.
"If you go out of this room with that paper I'll scream for help!"
she said defiantly.
Fleming made a little mock-bow of courtesy. He smiled.
"To carry on our little game of supposing," he said easily, "suppose
there is a detective in this house--and that, if I were cornered,
I should tell him where to lay his hands on Jack Bailey. Do you
suppose you would scream?"
Dale's hands dropped, powerless, at her sides. If only she hadn't
told him--too late!--she was helpless. She could not call the
detective without ruining Jack--and yet, if Fleming escaped with
the money--how could Jack ever prove his innocence?
Fleming watched her for an instant, smiling. Then, seeing she made
no move, he darted hastily toward the double doors of the alcove,
flung them open, seemed about to dash up the alcove stairs. The
sight of him escaping with the only existing clue to the hidden
room galvanized Dale into action. She followed him, hurriedly
snatching up Miss Cornelia's revolver from the table as she did so,
in a last gesture of desperation.
"No! No! Give it to me! Give it to me!" and she sprang after him,
clutching the revolver.
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