“But you’re not afraid of me, surely,” said Banneker. He had found out one important point; her manner when she said “Yes” indicated that the proprietor was in the building. Now he continued: “Are you?”
“I don’t know. I think I am.” There was a little catch in her breath. “I think you’d be dangerous to any woman.”
Banneker, his eyes fixed on hers, played for time and a further lead with a banality. “You’re pleased to flatter me.”
“Aren’t you pleased to be flattered?” she returned provocatively.
He put his hand on her wrist. She swayed to him with a slow, facile yielding. He caught her other wrist, and the grip of his two hands seemed to bite into the bone.
“So you’re that kind, too, are you!” he sneered, holding her eyes as cruelly as he had clutched her wrists. “Keep quiet! Now, you’re to do as I tell you.”
(Ely Ives, in describing the watchwoman at the portals of scandal, had told him that she was susceptible to a properly timed bluff. “A woman she had slandered once stabbed her; since then you can get her nerve by a quick attack. Treat her rough.”)
She stared at him, fearfully, half-hypnotized.
“Is that the door leading to Bussey’s office? Don’t speak! Nod.”
Dumb and stricken, she obeyed.