"And if I pay it," said Piquette bravely, "you'll know no more about what has become of your papers than you do now."
Quinlevin made a sign to Tricot.
"There's something in that.—but I'm in no mood to be trifled with. That ought to be pretty clear."
"It is. I'm not trifling."
"Then speak. Or——" Quinlevin paused significantly.
Piquette continued to glance around the room as though in a hope that something might happen to release her from her predicament. It had now grown dark outside, but her captors showed no disposition to make a light. And yet it seemed impossible that they would dare...
She tried to gain time.
"And if I could tell you what has happened to the papers," she asked uncertainly, "will you let me go?"
"Yes—speak."
"And if I cannot tell you——"