"It was a pretty smart way," O'Reilly flattered her. "But you haven't told me——"
"I will. Only—I think I'll have to sit down. I feel rather—queer——"
"Good lord! You can't faint here!"
"I won't, unless you make me, I'll promise that!" She had her cue now.
"Sit down, for heaven's sake!" said O'Reilly, pulling up the biggest chair in the room. Clo sank into it. Closing her eyes, she drew in a gasping breath which made her girlish bosom heave.
The man stood by, feeling absurdly helpless.
"Shall I ring for brandy?" he suggested.
"No—please!" She opened her great eyes again. "Only listen. I've come from Mrs. Roger Sands—to beg you for those papers of hers."
"Mrs. Roger Sands! Her papers? I know nothing of any papers belonging to Mrs. Roger Sands," O'Reilly exclaimed. "What papers are you talking about?"
"The ones you hired a man to steal when the train got to Chicago."