“Yes.”
He picked up her wrist bag and opened it, but discovered only some money, a handkerchief, a spool of thread and packet of needles.
There was a glass lamp on the table. He managed to light it finally; turned off his flash light, and examined the contents of the box again thoroughly. Then he came back to where she was seated.
“Get up,” he said.
She looked at him sullenly without moving.
“I’m in a hurry,” he repeated; “get up. I’m going to search you.”
At that she bounded to her feet.
“What!” she exclaimed furiously.
But he caught hold of her, held her, untied the handkerchief, freeing her wrists.
“Now, pull out those papers you have concealed under your clothing,” he said impatiently. And, as she made no motion to comply: “If you don’t, I’ll do it for you!”