Edyth Vale, pale of face, but with steady eye, returned his look.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I am sorry to do anything," spoke the stranger. "I do not know you, and you will onderstan', will you not, that I can't leave you behind—to talk?"
As he spoke a flashing something appeared from the girl's pocket; he lifted one huge paw to beat her down; but a clenched hand, protected by a corded buckskin glove, thudded against his jaw; his knees weakened, and he sprawled upon the floor.
"Jimmie!" gasped Edyth Vale. "Jimmie Pendleton!"
"Oh, Edyth—Edyth!" was all the man could say. He slipped his arm around her, for she was tottering; and as he helped her to a chair, Ashton-Kirk quietly entered at the hall door.
"Miss Vale," said he, "good-evening."
Without waiting to note if she even gave him a look, he bent over the fallen man and snapped a pair of handcuffs upon his wrists.
"A very pretty blow, Pen," said he, admiringly. "Beautifully timed, and your judgment of distance was excellent."
He slipped the fallen papers into his pocket and continued: "Keep an eye on him, for a moment."