"Well, young lady!" said this person.
Fanny breathed hard. These little contretemps are the risk of the profession, but that makes them none the easier to bear philosophically.
"Put down that jewel-case."
Fanny did so. There was a pause. Hamilton Beamish moved to the window, blocking it up.
"Well?" said Fanny.
Hamilton Beamish adjusted his spectacles.
"Well, you've got me. What are you going to do?"
"What do you expect me to do?"
"Turn me over to the police?"
The figure in the window nodded curtly. Fanny clasped her hands together. Her eyes filled with tears.