Her face was on his arm, sobbing close. “I hate—it!” she said brokenly, “I hate—your—money! I want Betty!” The cry went through the room—and the man was on his feet, looking down at her—
“Don’t, Louie,” he said—“don’t, dear—I can’t bear that! See, dear—sit down!” He had placed her in the chair and was crooning to her, bending to her. “We shall have her back—soon—now.”
The telephone was whirring and he sprang to it.
The woman lifted her face, staring at it.
The Greek’s deep eyes fixed themselves on it.
The room was so still they could hear the tiny, ironic words flinging themselves spitefully in the room, and biting upon the air. “Time’s up,” the Thing tittered—“Make it fifty thousand now—for a day. Fifty thousand down and the child delivered safe—Br-r-r-r!”
The woman sprang forward. “Tell them we’ll pay, Phil—give it to me—Yes—yes—we’ll pay!” She struggled a little—but the hand had thrust her back and the receiver was on its hook.
“We shall not pay!” said the man sternly, “not if they make it a million!”
“I think they make it a million,” said Achilles quietly.
They looked up at him with startled eyes.