"You did."
"I warn you again. It may be a matter of life or death. Put your watch in your pocket, pay your bill, and take me home. Then go away and forget me."
Laurie glanced at the watch.
"We have used up eight minutes since I gave you your choice," he reminded her.
"You are like a child," she muttered, "spinning his top over a powder-magazine."
Laurie frowned a little.
"Too melodramatic," he murmured.
"I tell you," she said fiercely, "you are acting like a fool! If you interfere with me you will be drawn into all sorts of trouble, perhaps into tragedy, perhaps even into disgrace."
"You're forgetting the net," he reminded her, "the nice net you mentioned this morning, with room for two. Also—" again he looked at the watch—"you're overlooking the value of time. See how fast these little hands are moving. The nearest police station is only two blocks away. Unless you give me that promise, you will be in it in—" he made a calculation—"in just about four minutes."
She seemed to come to a decision.