In the meantime Whispering had brought Nan to town, and left her at the lawyer’s office. She realised that she was at the end of her string; the tone of the letter told her that much.
For the first time since the beginning of her masquerade she was afraid of the consequences, but she summoned up all her reserve strength and went into the office, prepared at least to battle for a chance to drop out gracefully, but realising that Baggs was not the type to be lenient with an offender.
He was there at his desk, bowed over some papers, a dead pipe between his teeth. She stopped near his desk and he stared at her for several moments, before he got to his feet and indicated his chair. No word had passed between them. He closed the door tightly and came back to stand near her.
“Well, Miss Impersonator, what about it?” he jeered. “Thought you could steal another woman’s identity, eh? Didn’t you know it was a prison offence? No? Just playing a joke on us, eh?”
He pointed a lean forefinger at her threateningly.
“Don’t you realise that I could send you to prison for a nice long time for what you’ve done? Maybe I will—it all depends on what you do, young lady.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Nan helplessly.
Baggs walked to the window and looked out on the street. He was a firm believer in suspense. Finally he turned.
“I’ll tell you what you’ll do. Perhaps it isn’t what you want to do, but you’ll do it or go to jail. Pack up your little valise and catch the first train out of town. I’ll give you until to-morrow noon. That’s more consideration than I’ve ever shown anybody before. I guess I’m getting soft. I’ll fix up some sort of a story to cover the situation.”
“Can you prove that I am not Miss Singer?” asked Nan.