“Hands up, Denby,” Taylor shouted, clambering from the balcony to the room and levelling a revolver at the smuggler. Without a word Denby’s hands went up as he was bid, and the deputy-surveyor smiled the victor’s smile.
“Well, congratulations, Miss Cartwright,” he cried; “you landed him as I knew you could if you tried.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Denby cried indignantly. “Who are you?”
“Oh, can that bunk!” Taylor said in disgust.
“Where’s the necklace, Miss Cartwright?”
“I don’t know,” she answered nervously.
“You don’t know?” he returned incredulously.
“I haven’t been able to find it, but it’s here somewhere.”
“He’s probably got it on him,” Taylor said.
“All this is preposterous,” Denby exclaimed angrily.