“I shall do no such thing,” was my answer. “You’ve entrapped me here, but you are holding me at your peril. You can’t frighten me into giving you a thousand pounds, for I haven’t it at the bank.”
“Oh yes, you have,” replied the man with the red face. “We’ve already taken the precaution to find out. We don’t make haphazard guesses, you know. Now sign it, and at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning you shall be released—after we have cashed your cheques.”
“Where is Marlowe?” I inquired.
“With the girl, I suppose.”
“What girl?”
“Well,” exclaimed the other, “her photograph is in the next room; perhaps you’d like to see it.”
“It does not interest me,” I replied.
But the fellow Forbes left the room for a moment and returned with a fine panel photograph in his hand. He held it before my gaze. I started in utter amazement.
It was the picture of Sylvia! The same that I had seen in Shuttleworth’s study.