“Yes—yes, of course,” murmured Dorothy, hardly knowing what she was saying, and hoping Tavia was not going too far.
“More money?” the agent cried.
“Yes,” retorted Tavia. “What have you done that you should be entitled to more than the legal rate?”
“I brought those apartments up to their present fitness,” he snarled, “and whatever I get over and above the regular rentals, is mine; do you understand that? What do you know about real estate laws? I’ll keep you both locked in this office, until I grind out of your heads the silliness that led you to try and trap me. I’ll keep you here until——”
“You will not,” said Dorothy.
“Where did she go?” He suddenly missed Tavia, and Dorothy, turning, saw too that Tavia had disappeared.
“This is nothing but a scheme to get us down here,” cried Dorothy, after several moments of anxiety, “Aunt Winnie was never expected, and now Tavia has gone!”
“Oh, no I haven’t,” cried Tavia, as she stepped from a sound-proof private telephone booth. “I’ve just been looking about the office. It’s an interesting place, and the melodrama of Mr. Akerson I found quite wearisome.”
“Also that my private ’phone isn’t connected; didn’t you?” he said. Suddenly dropping the pose of the villain in a cheap melodrama, he smiled again and rubbing his hands together said, as though there never had been a disagreeable word uttered:
“Seriously, girls, that Bergham woman is out of her head, that’s a fact. You must know there is something queer about her.”