“Why not?” he returned. “It’s give and take in this world.”
“But I couldn’t be so contemptible.”
Taylor shrugged his shoulders. “If I were you I’d think it over,” he recommended.
“But supposing you’re wrong,” she said earnestly. “Suppose he has no necklace?”
“Don’t let that disturb you,” he retorted. “Our information is positive. We got a telegram late this afternoon from a pal of his who squealed, giving us a tip about it. Now what do you say?”
“I can’t,” she said, “I can’t.”
He came closer, and said in a low harsh voice: “Remember, it’s Steven Denby or your sister. There’s no other way out. Which are you going to choose?”
He watched her pale face eagerly. “Well,” he cried, “which is it to be?”
“I have no choice,” she answered dully. “What do you want me to do?”
“Good,” Taylor cried approvingly. “That’s the way to talk! Denby has that necklace concealed in a brown leather tobacco-pouch which he always carries in his pocket. You must get me that pouch.”