"Yes," she said. "I'll be about. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Jan again, and found himself standing at the door after it had opened and closed behind her.
"I wonder," thought Jan, "if he will beat her!" And he stooped to lock the door. His hand was on the key, but he did not turn it. Who was that? Jan had keen hearing. He jammed his ear against the crack. It was the sound of breathing, heavy breathing, of breathing and tramping, and now—Jan had been listening for perhaps a minute—of suppressed voices.
Jan stepped back to the washstand and poured out a glass of water. He took it at a gulp. He had another. It was cold and bracing to his fevered stomach. He stepped to the door, cautiously turned [pg 235] the knob and slowly drew the door to him. He peeped out.
Under the hall light he saw them—she jammed back against the stair-rail and he with his hands at her throat. His back was to Jan.
"Where is it? Come—give up!" he was saying. Jan could not hear what she said; but the man took a fresh grip and shook her. "Don't tell me anything like that! You gave in at last and got the money off him. Give it up!"
"I did not! I'm not that kind of a woman—not yet. I may be yet if you keep on—but I'm not yet. And he's not that kind of a man."
"You're not? And he's not? And you an hour in his room with the door locked! You got money off him! Give it to me!"
"N-no—no!"