"Stand where you are," he warned her. "Throw those papers on the
floor!"
"I----"
"Do you hear!"
Looking him straight in the eyes she opened both hands; the papers
fell at her feet, and with them dropped the two dagger-like steel pins
which had held her hat.
"Now, go and put on your shoes," he said contemptuously, picking up
the papers and running over them. When he had counted them, he came
back to where she was standing.
"Where are the others?"
"What others?"
"The remainder of the papers! You little devil, they're wrapped around
your body! Go into that pantry! Go quick! Undress and throw out every
rag you wear!"
She drew a deep, quivering breath, turned, entered the pantry and
closed the door. Presently the door opened a little and her clothing
dropped outside in a heap.
There were papers in her stockings, papers stitched to her stays,
basted inside her skirts. A roll of drawings traced on linen lay on
the floor, still retaining the warmth of her body around which they
had been wrapped.
He pulled the faded embroidered cover from the old piano and knocked
at the pantry door.
"Put that on," he said, "and come out."
She emerged, swathed from ankle to chin, her flushed face shadowed by
her fallen mass of dark hair. He turned his flash light on the
cupboard, but discovered nothing more. Then he picked up her hat,
clothes, and shoes, laid them on the pantry shelf, and curtly bade her
go back and dress.
"May I have the lamp and that looking glass?"
"If you like," he said, preoccupied with the papers.
While she was dressing, he repacked the olive-wood box. She emerged
presently, carrying the lamp, and he took it from her hurriedly, not
knowing whether she might elect to throw it at his head.
While she was putting on her jacket he stood watching her with
perplexed and sombre gaze.
"I think," he remarked, "that I'll take you with me and drop you at
the Orangeville jail on my way to town. Be kind enough to start toward
the door."
As she evinced no inclination to stir he passed one arm around her and
lifted her along a few feet; and she turned on him, struggling, her
face convulsed with fury.
"Keep your insolent hands off me," she said. "Do you hear?"
"Oh, yes, I hear." He nodded again toward the door. "Come," he
repeated impatiently; "move on!"
She hesitated; he picked up the olive-wood box, extinguished the lamp,
opened his flash, and motioned with his head, significantly. She
walked ahead of him, face lowered.
Outside he closed and locked the door of the house.
"This way," he said coldly. "If you refuse, I'll pick you up and
carry you under my arm. I think by this time you realise I can do it,
too."