“If you do not quit my house,” she exclaimed, trying to stand between Frank Amberley and the fatal drawer, “I will send for a policeman, and give you into custody on the charge of attempting to rifle these drawers.”
The young man did not answer. There was no longer any doubt that the precious volume lay within a few inches of his hand. The confused memory of the secret spring grew more hazy—he was almost in despair. It seemed hard to be baffled at the moment when victory smiled. Quick as thought, he ran across to the fireplace, and caught up the bright steel poker lying in the fender.
Before Lucia Guiscardini really knew what he meant to do, he had darted back, and with one adroit blow smashed in the front of the drawer.
The laces and handkerchiefs were folded about the faded, ink-stained volume, but Frank dragged them out swift as lightning, and scattered them at his feet. The book then lay revealed, and he snatched at it.
Had the poisoned ring still been on Lucia Guiscardini’s finger, Frank Amberley’s life would not have been worth a second’s purchase. As it was, she for a moment, in her mad rage, measured the possibility of matching her strength against his. But the next, the utter futility of doing anything by force pressed upon her as she glared upon the tall, slender, deep-chested, muscular figure before her.
With a low, moaning growl, like that of a tigress deprived of her young, she glided half-blindly under the silken archway, into the back room, and groped there with an uncertain hand.
Frank took advantage of this moment to rush to the window nearest. It was partially raised, and he flung it wide open.
The cab was still in waiting, directly opposite, on the very spot where poor Gilardoni had stood scarce more than a week since. The driver was sitting tranquilly on the step of his vehicle, smoking a pipe. Frank threw the book so adroitly that it fell at the man’s feet, and called to him. The fellow caught up the dingy volume, and was under the window in a second. Frank dropped a sovereign in his hand, and said, in a clear, distinct tone:
“Drive with that book to eighty-six, Alderman’s Lane, and ask for Mr. Joyner—give it to him; then wait, and if I am not back there in a couple of hours, bring him here. Give that book to no other human being, and tell no one else.”
The man touched his hat, and ran to his cab.