There was something commanding in the tones, which had suddenly changed, but Margie did not stir.
“I want to talk with you,” continued the man. “And I prefer to have you seated.”
Margie glanced at the door and then toward the window, the eyes of her caller following her, and for half a second her heart seemed in her throat.
“I want those papers,” and the fellow, whose face was covered with a heavy brown beard, held out his hand.
“What papers?” demanded the girl.
“The ones you have just been looking over.”
No wonder Margie started.
“Come, don’t mince matters with me. I won’t have it. Are they in your bosom, girl?”
Margie fell back, but the man advanced.
“I am here for them,” he went on. “You can’t cheat me out of them. Come, hand them over.”