"I don't have to," I interrupted then.
"Nance!" he cried, jumping up, as though he'd been relieved of half his troubles.
"I don't have to think it over," I went on slowly, not looking at the hand he held out to me. "It doesn't take long to know that when you're between the devil and the deep sea, you'd better try—the devil rather than be forced out into the wet."
"What?—you don't mean—"
I knew he was looking at me incredulously, but I just wouldn't meet his eye.
"My staying with you will do you no good—" was hurrying now to get it over with—"and it would do me a lot of harm. I think you're right, Mr. Obermuller; I'd better just go over to where it's warm. They'll be glad to get me and—and, to tell the truth, I'll be glad to get in with the Syndicate, even if I can't make as good terms as I might have by selling that contract, which—like the famous conspiracy you're half mad about—never existed."
He sat down on the edge of the desk. I caught one glimpse of his face. It was black; that was enough for me. I turned to go.
"Ah, but it did, Miss Olden, it did!" he sneered.
"I won't believe it on the word of a man that's been in the lunatic asylum ever since he lost his theater."
"Perhaps you'll believe it on mine."