“The money—those notes?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then I’ll tell you plainly. I want five hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, stolen by you from Mr Van Heldre’s safe.”
Pradelle sank back in his chair.
“I like that,” he said, with a low, sneering laugh.
“No nonsense. Give me those notes.”
“You mean you want to give me the notes.”
“I mean what I say,” cried Harry, in a low, angry voice.
“Why, you went and got them, as we agreed.”
“I did not go and get them as we agreed.”