"That name seems to worry you, Mr. Anton."
"Jenny Regan? Just a little. I happen to know who the lady is. One of the slickest thieves we've turned out. And she don't have to do sewing for a living, either. I guess not. Come, kiddo, do we make the deal?"
"No!" she answered fiercely.
"Little spitfire! I'll tame you yet."
"Try it," she said.
The chauffeur rose quietly and went to a shelf, where he took down a box of paper.
"Just to show you how easy it is," he continued, returning to the girl. "I take this sheet of paper—so, and this pencil—so, and I write to Scotland Yard that Jenny Regan, who was mixed up in the bishop's purse affair, is not an American lady, the way they thought, but an American pickpocket, well known at Police Headquarters in New York City."
"It's a lie!"
"You must be pretty well known for me to have heard of you. Then I tell 'em this dangerous crook is hiding in Ippingford under the name of Hester Storm. How about it? Think that will help your game any?"
"You—you wouldn't do that?" trembled the girl.