Saidee Isaacs tapped the thick rug with her silver-buckled slipper. She glanced down her dark lashes and uncocked the revolver with a practiced motion.
“Why should I know?� she asked, glancing up.
“I think you had a hand in it!�
“You do?�
“Yes.�
Saidee Isaacs swished her hair back from her forehead as she removed the lacy night cap and tossed it upon a divan. “Come sit down,� she said, “and tell me about it. Tell me, Chester, why you think I had anything to do with getting you sprung.�
“‘Sprung’ is good,� said Fay, tossing his cap after the dainty one.
“But,â€� he added, “I don’t like to think that you let me rot in that place for five years—without writing a line.â€�
“I had a reason!�
“Well, it’ll have to be a good one. We quit, Saidee, if it isn’t! What does all this mean?� Fay swept his hands about the room. He stepped swiftly toward the portières and parted them. He darted a quick glance around a well-cushioned and thick-rugged parlor. “Who’s upstairs?� he asked, turning and coming back to her.