He was helpless, and his face showed it.
"Oh, I've got you! But don't take it so hard. You scared me out of town—but I've got nothing against you. I really like you; I'm sorry it's you I'm troubling. I've got to have money—that's all."
There was an instant of faint regret in her face—but only an instant. "Yes, I've got you. But I haven't showed you all my cards yet. Mebbe you'll tell me you won't pay anything to keep me still about Phil Morton, who's been dead for five years. All right. But you'll pay me to keep still about yourself."
David looked at her blankly.
"You don't understand? I'll talk plainer then. I've been doing a little putting one and one together. You didn't take that five thousand dollars from the Mission. Phil Morton didn't have a cent of his own—he told me that when he was half crazy with trying to beg off; he said I was driving him into crime. He took that money, and I got it. Well, for some reason, I don't know why, you said you took it, and went to prison."
Wonderment succeeded to hardness and sarcasm. "You're a queer fellow," she said slowly. "Why did you do it?"
"Go on!"
"I don't understand it—you're a queer lot!—but I know you've got your reason for wanting to make the world think it was you that took the money and not Phil Morton. And I know it's a mighty strong reason, too—strong enough to make you willing to go to prison and to keep still while people are calling you thief. Well—and here's my ace of trumps, mister—if you don't hand out the cash I'll tell that you didn't take the money!"
David sank slowly into Kate Morgan's chair, and gazed stunned at the woman, whose look grew more and more triumphant as she noted the effect of her card. His mind comprehended her threat only by degrees, but at length the threat's significance was plain to him.
If he didn't pay her, she would clear his name, He must pay her money to retain his guilt.