“Just sign on that lower line,” he said, indicating it with a bony forefinger. “Sign it Madge Singer.”
“What is it?” Nan managed to articulate at last.
“Power of attorney,” said Baggs. “You just sign it, young lady. I’ll need that to handle this case. We’ve got to say that you are suddenly called to Frisco.”
“I—I’d rather not sign it now,” she said.
“You’d rather not sign it now? What have you got to do with it, I’d like to know? You sign it. I’ve been pretty lenient with you, young lady; now you play square with me. Write your name on that line, and let’s get this over.”
Nan looked at Pollock, who was grinning at her. Baggs had been drinking, and his face was close to her.
“You say I’m going back to Frisco?” she asked.
“That’s none of your damn business,” Baggs said coldly. “You were an impostor. I’m merely saving you from jail. You’re not entitled to that much consideration, but I’m giving it to you. You sign Madge Singer’s name on that line, write a note to Len Ayres, telling him that you are suddenly called away, and we’ll all get out of here. You’ll either do this or stay in jail to-night.”
“Does Ayres know your handwriting?” asked Pollock.
“I don’t think he does,” said Nan weakly. She turned to Amos Baggs. “I guess I’d rather go to jail,” she said.