“Can’t you guess?” asked the stranger with an easy shrug.
“No,” said Jinnie. “Why?”
“And you can’t guess who I am?”
“No,” repeated Jinnie once more, passionately, “and I want to know why I’m here.”
He came toward her, piercing her face with a pair of compelling, mesmeric eyes that made her stagger back to the wall. Then he advanced a step nearer, covering the space Jinnie had yielded.
“I’m Jordan Morse,” he then said, clipping his words off shortly.
If a gun had burst in Jinnie’s face, she could have been no more alarmed. She was frozen to silence, and every former fear her father had given life to almost three years before, beset her once more, only with many times 287 the amount of vigor. Nevertheless, she gave back look for look, challenge for challenge, while her fingers locked and interlocked. Her uncle, who had sent her father to his grave, the man who wanted her money, who desired her own death!
Then her eyes slowly took on a tragic expression. She knew then she was destined to encounter the tragedy of Morse’s terrific vengeance, and no longer wondered why her father had succumbed to his force. He stood looking at her, his gaze taking in the young form avidiously.
“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” he averred presently.
Jinnie’s blue eyes narrowed angrily. However, in spite of her rage, she was terribly frightened. An instinct of self-preservation told her to put on a bold, aggressive front.