"Now, I'll tell you what you've got to do, boy," Driggs continued. "Or maybe you can tell him that better, Dexter."
"You're going to write a letter to Mrs. Dexter," stated Ab. "In that letter you're going to tell her that you're hopelessly in my power, and that you realize how foolish it is for her to refuse my demands any longer. So you're to advise her that the best thing for her—and the only hope of saving your life as well as hers—is for her to pay me that forty thousand dollars——"
"You've gone up ten in your price, haven't you?" asked Dick with a momentary lack of caution.
"So-ho!" muttered Ab. "Mrs. Dexter did tell you about my last letter when you were talking on Main Street last Saturday. And I suppose you advised her to go back to the 'Blade' office and withdraw the advertisement that my letter had frightened her into paying for."
Dick bit his lips in silence.
"Did you advise her that way, or didn't you?" insisted Ab. angrily.
"Whatever she and I may have said to each other is not going to be repeated here," Prescott answered.
"Oh, it isn't Mr. High-and-mighty?" sneered Driggs, going closer to the boy and laying a hard hand on him. "See here, youngster, you may have an idea that Dexter isn't very dangerous. You'll have a different notion about me, if I turn myself loose on you. Now, you get suddenly respectful. Answer straight, and do just what we tell you—or I'll take you in hand."
"I won't write any such letter as you order me to," retorted Dick stubbornly.
"You won't? I tell you you will!" roared Driggs, gripping Prescott by the collar. "Sit down at that table."