“See here,” the officer’s iron-cold accents interrupted, “let us understand each other. Rosenbaum hates you, and good reason, too; _he’d_ much rather have you dead than alive; and you ought to know that _I_ wouldn’t mind killing you any more than I mind killing a rat. Give me a good excuse—pull that pop you have in your inside pocket just a little bit—and you’re a stiff one, sure! See?” Again the pause, then a sullen voice: “Yes, damn you! I see. Say, won’t you let me say good-bye to my girl?” Abbie clinched her finger-nails into her hands during the pause that followed. Wickliff’s reply was a surprise; he said, musingly, “Got any money out of her, I wonder?” “I swear to God not a red cent!” cried the conjurer, vehemently. “Oh, you _are_ a scoundrel, and no mistake,” laughed Wickliff. “That settles it; you _have_! Well, I’ll call her—Oh, Miss Courtlandt!”—he elevated his soft tones to a roaring bellow—“please excuse my calling you, and step out here! Or we’ll go in there.” “If it’s anything private, you’ll excuse me,” interposed a mild voice at her elbow; and when she turned her head, behold a view of the skirts of the minister of justice as he slammed a door behind him! A second later, Wickliff entered, propelling Slater by the shoulder. “Ah! Squire stepped out a moment, has he?” said the officer, blandly. “Well, that makes it awkward, but I may as well tell you, madam, with deep regret, that this man here is a professional swindler, who is most likely a bigamist as well, and he has done enough mischief for a dozen, in his life. I’m taking him to Canada now for a particularly bad case of hypnotic influence and swindling, etc. Has he got any money out of you?” As he spoke he fixed his eyes on her. “Don’t be afraid if he has hypnotized you; he won’t try those games before me. Kindly turn your back on the lady, Johnny.” (As he spoke he wheeled the fortune-teller round with no gentle hand.) “He has? How much?” It was strange that she should no longer feel afraid of the man; but his face, as he cowered under the heavy grasp of the officer, braced her courage. “He has five hundred dollars I gave him this morning,” she cried; “but he may keep it if he will only let me go. I don’t want to marry him!” “Of course you don’t, a lady like you! He’s done the same game with nice ladies before. Keep your head square, Johnny, or I’ll give your neck a twist! And as to the money, you’ll march out with me to the other room, and you’ll fish it out, and the lady will kindly allow you fifty dollars of it for your tobacco while you’re in jail in Canada. That’s enough, Miss Courtlandt—more would be wasted—and if he doesn’t be quick and civil, I’ll act as his valet.” The fortune-teller wheeled half round in an excess of passion, his fingers crooked on their way to his hip pocket; then his eye ran to the officer, who had simply doubled his fist and was looking at the other man’s neck. Instinctively Slater ducked his head; his hand dropped.