"Once Jezebel Pethram, now Miriam Belswin. I see you remember faces as well as voices--and names also. Ah! what an excellent memory."
Mr. Dombrain alias Damberton collected his scattered senses together, and, going over to a small iron safe set in the wall, produced a tumbler and a bottle of whisky. Mrs. Belswin looked at him approvingly as he drank off half a glass of the spirit neat.
"That's right; you'll need all your Dutch courage."
Quite forgetting the demands of hospitality, Dombrain replaced the bottle and glass in the respectable safe, and resumed his seat at the table with his ordinary bullying nature quite restored to him by the potent spirit.
"Now, then, Mrs. Pethram, or Belswin, or whatever you like to call yourself," he said, in a harsh, angry tone, "what do you want here?"
"I want you."
"Ho, ho! The feeling isn't reciprocal. Leave my office."
"When I choose."
"Perhaps a policeman will make you go quicker," growled Dombrain, rising.
"Perhaps he will," retorted Mrs. Belswin, composedly; "and perhaps he'll take you along with him."