"Very well, Judge Wilton!" she gave him insolent good-bye, in which there was also unmistakable threat. "You'll do the right thing sooner or later—and as I tell you. You're—get this straight—you're not through with me yet!"
She laughed, one low note, and, impossible as it seemed, proclaimed with the harsh sound an absolute confidence in what she said.
"Nor you, Mr. Hastings!" she continued, taking her time with her words, and waiting until the detective faced her again, before she concluded: "You'll sing a different tune when you find I've got this affair in my hands—tight!"
Still smiling her contempt, as if she enjoyed a feeling of superiority, she left the room. When her footsteps died down the corridor, the two men drew long breaths of relief.
Wilton broke the ensuing silence.
"Is she sane?"
"Yes," Hastings said, "so far as sanity can be said to exist in a mind consecrated to evil."
The judge was surprised by the solemnity of the other's manner. "Why do you say that?" he asked. "Do you know that much about her?"
"Who wouldn't?" Hastings retorted. "It's written all over her."
Wilton led the way into his private office and closed the door.