“May I have the lamp and that looking glass?”
“If you like,” he said, preoccupied with the papers.
While she was dressing, he repacked the olive-wood box. She emerged presently, carrying the lamp, and he took it from her hurriedly, not knowing whether she might elect to throw it at his head.
While she was putting on her jacket he stood watching her with perplexed and sombre gaze.
“I think,” he remarked, “that I’ll take you with me and drop you at the Orangeville jail on my way to town. Be kind enough to start toward the door.”
As she evinced no inclination to stir he passed one arm around her and lifted her along a few feet; and she turned on him, struggling, her face convulsed with fury.
“Keep your insolent hands off me,” she said. “Do you hear?”
“Oh, yes, I hear.” He nodded again toward the door. “Come,” he repeated impatiently; “move on!”
She hesitated; he picked up the olive-wood box, extinguished the lamp, opened his flash, and motioned with his head, significantly. She walked ahead of him, face lowered.
Outside he closed and locked the door of the house.