“That might not prove such an easy thing to do,” he snarled, in a low tone. “So she fled to you, did she? And I suppose she is blowing you to this feed off the boodle? Well, I’ve found her, and now she’ll have to give it up! I’ve fooled with her for the last time. If she won’t marry me, she can go; but first she must give me my doll.”
Frank wondered if he had understood correctly. What could the man want of a doll? Was it slang of some sort?
The girl sat staring at Jones, as if in doubt about what she would do. Frank longed to aid her in some way, but her fears had made him hesitate about moving.
“Where is it?” hissed Jones, fixing her with his eyes. “Give it to me! If you do that I’ll leave you and trouble you no more. I shall be glad to get rid of you, for you cannot be trusted.”
She leaned forward.
“You deceived me—or tried to,” she declared accusingly. “You told me there were nothing but private papers hidden in her.”
“So you have investigated?” he returned. “I knew it! It belongs to me—every bit of it!”
“I do not believe it.”
“I swear it does!”
“Even so, you are a criminal whom I might turn over to the officers.”