“Well, do you want to arrest me now?” she asked.
Markham regarded her for a moment, deliberating. Instead of answering at once, he went to the window and stood for a full minute looking down upon the Bridge of Sighs which connects the Criminal Courts Building with the Tombs.
“No, I think not to-day,” he said slowly.
He stood a while longer in absorbed contemplation; then, as if shaking off his mood of irresolution, he swung about and confronted the woman.
“I’m not going to arrest you—yet,” he reiterated, a bit harshly. “But I’m going to order you to remain in New York for the present. And if you attempt to leave, you will be arrested. I hope that is clear.”
He pressed a button, and his secretary entered.
“Swacker, please escort Miss St. Clair downstairs, and call a taxicab for her. . . . Then you can go home yourself.”
She rose and gave Markham a little nod.
“You were very kind to lend me my cigarette-holder,” she said pleasantly, laying it on his desk.
Without another word, she walked calmly from the room.