Gee-gee and Gid-up came in, the former in a state of great agitation.
“How dared you?” she gasped, going up to the monocle-man and standing with arms akimbo.
“Send you that note, commanding your presence here?” said the monocle-man. “I dared, my dear,” he added slowly, “because I hold the cards.”
“Don’t you ‘dear’ me,” she retorted stormily.
“I wouldn’t, seriously,” he returned. “It might be dangerous. Women like you are dangerous, you know. I fancy our friends here,” glancing toward the commodore and Clarence, “have found that out. But it will be a lesson. ‘We’ll never wander more from our own fireside,’” he hummed.
“Well,” said Gee-gee, shaking her auburn tresses, “those were pretty bold statements of what you could do to me, in that note you sent.”
“They were true, my dear.”
The green eyes flared. Gee-gee was shaking all over. Gid-up looked rather frightened.
“Take it easy,” said the monocle-man.
“I’d like to see you prove what you can do,” she returned. “You say I have framed-up a lot of false-hoods—a tissue of lies—in that affidavit the lawyer at Mrs. Ralston’s drew up. I tell you they’re all true.” Dan looked weak. “Everything I’ve told happened just at I said it did, and he knows it.” Pointing a finger at the commodore.