“But——”
“Not a word unless you intend to comply with my demand! You know where the papers are. You got them in Mother Flintstone’s den.”
“My God——”
“I hit the nail on the head, did I?” brutally laughed the man. “I thought my arrow wouldn’t go far wide of the mark. Here, I’ll despoil you of the papers by force if you don’t tamely submit.”
Margie was nearly against the wall now, and she looked at the man like a startled fawn.
She now felt, yes, knew that the beard was but a mask, and she asked herself whom she faced.
Claude Lamont or George Richmond?
She could retreat no farther, and remembering her adventure in the house which had succumbed to the fire fiend, she nearly fainted.
Already the powerful hands of the unknown almost touched her bosom; she could feel his hot, wine-laden breath on her cheek and she expected any minute to be hurled across the room and robbed.
She made one last effort, but the movement was intercepted, and she stood in his grasp!