"Do you know, Mr. Tausig," I said impulsively, "if I were you, and anybody had stolen a valuable paper from me, I'd have him arrested. I would. I should not care a rap what the public exposure did to his reputation, so long—so long," I grinned right up at him, "so long as it didn't hurt me, myself, in the eyes of the law."
Mad? Oh, he was hopping! A German swear-word burst from him. I don't know what it meant, but I can imagine.
"Look here, I give you one more chance," he squeaked; "if you don't—"
"What'll you do?"
I was sure I had him. I was sure, from the very whisper in which he had spoken, that the last thing in the world he wanted was to have that agreement made public by my arrest. But I tripped up on one thing. I didn't know there was a middle way for a man with money.
His manner changed.
"Nance Olden," he said aloud now, "I charge you with stealing a valuable private paper of mine from my desk. Here, Sergeant!"
I hadn't particularly noticed the Sergeant standing at the other door with his back to us. But from the way he came at Tausig's call I knew he'd had a private talk with him, and I knew he'd found the middle way.
"This girl's taken a paper of mine. I want her searched," Tausig cried.
"Do you mean," I said, "that you'll sign your name to such a charge against me?"