"Unless she confesses, Miss Cathcart receives the next call," said Johnson's wife. "The procedure will be the same; the results to you, I sincerely hope, will be the same. After that, if necessary, I shall go to the Dalton woman's home and repeat the performance, and doubtless her father and her brothers will——"
"Say! Do you want to have us killed?" Johnson Boller gasped.
"Yes!" hissed the Spanish strain in Beatrice. "Well?"
Anthony shook his head quietly.
"None of the ladies you have mentioned——" he began.
"One of them was here, and I'll soon know which one!" Beatrice corrected quickly. "Do you wish to save the other two?"
Anthony said nothing.
"Nope!" Johnson Boller said doggedly.
Beatrice rose slowly and looked them over.
"Do you know," said she, all withering contempt, "I had been fool enough to fancy that there was man enough in one or the other of you to spare the innocent women a very distressing quarter of an hour. Even if that failed, I had fancied that one or the other would have sufficient intelligence to avoid a thrashing if possible. I was wrong! There isn't a spark of manhood or an ounce of brain matter in either of you—and to think that I married you!"