“You lay a hand on me,” she panted, “and I'll yell out the window. The police would be glad enough to have something on you, Rudolph Klein, and you know it.”
“They arrest women like you, too.”
“Don't you dare say that.” And as he took a step or two toward her she retreated to the window. “You stay there, or I'll jump out of the window.”
She looked desperate enough to do it, and Rudolph hesitated.
“He was up here. I saw him at the window. I've been trailing you all evening. Keep off that window-sill, you little fool! I'm not going to kill you. But I'm going to get him, all right, and don't you forget it.”
His milder tone and the threat frightened her more than ever. He would get Graham; he was like that. Get him in some cruel, helpless way; that was the German blood in him. She began to play for time, with instinctive cunning.
“Listen, Rudolph,” she said. “I'll tell you all about it. He did come up, but he left right away. We quarreled. He threw me over, Rudolph. That's what he did.”
Her own words reminded her of her humiliation, and tears came into her eyes.
“He threw me over! Honest he did. That's why I threw his watch out of the window. That's straight, Rudolph. That's straight goods. I'm not lying now.”
“God!” said Rudolph. “The dirty pup. Then—then you're through with him, eh?”