“Bon voyage!” said the stranger. “Don’t imagine that I am not full of sympathy for you. I am. You have only been unfortunate. Bon voyage!”
“No! By Heaven!” Mr. Bowring almost shouted, rushing back from the door, and drawing a revolver from his hip pocket. “It’s too much! I didn’t mean to—but confound it! what’s a revolver for?”
The youngish man jumped up quickly and put his hands on the notes.
“Violence is always foolish, Mr. Bowring,” he murmured.
“Will you give them up, or won’t you?”
“I won’t.”
The stranger’s fine eyes seemed to glint with joy in the drama.
“Then——”
The revolver was raised, but in the same instant a tiny hand snatched it from the hand of Mr. Bowring, who turned and beheld by his side a woman. The huge screen sank slowly and noiselessly to the floor in the surprising manner peculiar to screens that have been overset.
Mr. Bowring cursed. “An accomplice! I might have guessed!” he grumbled in final disgust.