“And suppose I refuse to make a statement?” replied Barnard sullenly, nursing his bruised and bleeding face.
“You will have plenty of time to think it over in jail.”
“Ah, then you intend to prosecute?”
“Did you doubt it?” Duncan’s eyes hardened; it was only by exerting the utmost self-restraint that he kept his hands off Barnard, so great was his fury at the latter’s treatment of his sister.
“Have you counted the cost of publicity?” inquired Barnard, with cool effrontery. Some of his habitual composure was returning to him.
“Whatever the cost you shall suffer the full penalty of the law. Father, call up the nearest precinct and tell the sergeant to send here and arrest a thief....”
“And hypnotizer,” sneered Barnard, as Calderon Fordyce stepped toward the door.
Joe, who had divided his time looking out of the window and watching his companions, sidled up to Kathryn, who stood next Barnard, and, while pretending to pick up her handkerchief, whispered:
“I found your note. My taxi’s waiting outside. You slip out there the first chance you get, and I’ll follow.”
She nodded understandingly as her eyes and Barnard’s crossed, but Joe did not see their by-play.