"No more of that stuff," he said with a sneer. He drew his pocketbook and laid on the table a fifty-dollar note. "There's ready money, pay your debts and be ready for me at half-past seven."
"Why, what do you mean?" she blurted out, fastening greedily on the money. "Is that for me? Why?"
Bofinger, who watched anxiously the effect, was exultant at the hunger in her eyes.
"I hold her there," he thought. Then aloud he said cheerily, "I'm going to take you to your aunt's, my dear, and respectable quarters where you need not be afraid of being found. And we'll do that right away, for old Fargus is suspicious enough to have me watched as well as you. We'll take no risks. Now if you'll light the gas."
As she complied, he pulled his note-book and, tearing out a page, was proceeding to write, when he stopped and considered the woman as though to measure her cunning. Suddenly he asked:
"Sheila, are you educated?"
"Yes."
"You can write—like a lady?"
"Of course."