“What are you doing here, Freeman?” Henrietta asked.
Her husband waved his hand carelessly.
“Tapping the till, dearest,” he said. “Breaking the bank. Getting the cash.”
Henrietta advanced into the room. She spoke calmly enough.
“Now, this I will not have!” she said. “You may be a thief and a rascal, but you must not play your tricks in this house. If you have taken anything, put it back. Freeman, did you take any money?”
“This,” he said defiantly, and he held up the fold of crisp bills, slipping it into his pocket again, but as he moved he looked past Henrietta and saw Lem, surprised and wide-eyed, standing in the doorway. Lem had come to the room to get his “other” shirt, preparatory to his departure.
“I found it,” said Freeman slowly. “Finders is keepers, you know, dear.” He let his eyes glare into Lem's. “And you know what I am when I am angry, Henrietta. Any one who tells on me I'll kill. I'm desperate, you see. I'll murder any one who tells on me.”