The Dark Star

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.