"It's not my doin'!" broke in her tormentor.
"It's inhuman—it's fiendish!" she went on. "I can't stand the thought of it!"
MacNutt laughed his mirthless laugh once more.
"Oh, I guess you'll stand it!"
"But I can't!" she moaned.
"Oh, yes; you'll stand it, and you'll see it, too! You'll be right here, where you can take the whole show in, this time! It won't be a case o' foolin' the old man, like it was last time!"
"I will be here?" she gasped.
"You'll be right on the spot—and you'll see the whole performance!"
She drew her hands down, shudderingly, over her averted face, as though to shut something even from her imagination.
"And do you know what'll be the end of it all?" MacNutt went on, in his frenzied mockery. "It'll all end in a little paragraph or two in the Morning Journal, to the effect that some unknown safecracksman or other accidentally came in contact with a live wire, and was shocked to death in the very act of breaking into a pious and unoffendin' cigar-store vault! And you'll be the only one who'll know anything different, and I guess you won't do much squealin' about it!"