"Onto me?" she echoed.
"Don't give me the baby stare. I know you've got pretty eyes, but you're a crook, kiddo, with a record in New York City, and you stole that bishop's purse!"
"You don't say!" she laughed scornfully. "Anything else?"
"Yes. I want to be in on the game. I figure that something went wrong after you swiped the leather that day on the train—you slipped a cog somehow, and—you came up here. I don't know why you came, but—you're going to tell me."
"Indeed!" she mocked.
"You may not find it so funny in a minute."
There was something sinister in his tone that filled her with terror.
"You—you say you like me and—then you accuse me of frightful things," she faltered.
"Nothing frightful about it! You got away with five thousand pounds. Fine! I read about it in the newspapers. Here!" He drew a folded clipping from his pocket. "'One occupant of the carriage was Miss Jenny Regan, an American lady, who succeeded in convincing the police that she had nothing to do with the robbery.' Oh, no, nothing! Clever girl, Miss Jenny Regan, but now she'll have to show me."
The chauffeur laughed with cynical satisfaction, and his gold tooth gleamed. How Hester hated him!