“That’s only your opinion,” she snapped back at him.
“I expected you to deny everything in connection with this job, but I am gradually weaving the net around you,” Nick added. “You will also deny, of course, that you know anything about this letter.”
He drew it from his pocket while speaking and spread it open for her to look at—the pencil-printed Redlaw letter.
Kate Crandall gazed at it for a moment with flaming eyes, then tossed her head and burst out laughing—a[Pg 26] bitter, scornful, defiant laugh, so utterly void of mirth that it grated harshly on Nick’s ears.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Something that you have cooked up, Carter, with a view to putting me into the soup. I don’t want to read it. I care nothing about it, know nothing about it, and you may do what you like with it and go to the devil!”
“You never saw it before, did you?”
“No, never.”
“We’ll see about that. Keep your seat, Kate, and keep your hands on your lap, where I can see them,” Nick sternly commanded. “If you move either of them, I’ll put you in irons.”
“Irons! What do you mean by——”
“I mean what I say,” Nick sharply interrupted. “Obey me, or you’ll pay the price.”