“The ones you have just been looking over.” No wonder Margie started. “Come, don’t mince matters with me. I won’t have it. Are they in your bosom, girl?” Margie fell back, but the man advanced. “I am here for them,” he went on. “You can’t cheat me out of them. Come, hand them over.” “But----” “Not a word unless you intend to comply with my demand! You know where the papers are. You got them in Mother Flintstone’s den.” “My God----” “I hit the nail on the head, did I?” brutally laughed the man. “I thought my arrow wouldn’t go far wide of the mark. Here, I’ll despoil you of the papers by force if you don’t tamely submit.” Margie was nearly against the wall now, and she looked at the man like a startled fawn. She now felt, yes, knew that the beard was but a mask, and she asked herself whom she faced. Claude Lamont or George Richmond? She could retreat no farther, and remembering her adventure in the house which had succumbed to the fire fiend, she nearly fainted. Already the powerful hands of the unknown almost touched her bosom; she could feel his hot, wine-laden breath on her cheek and she expected any minute to be hurled across the room and robbed. She made one last effort, but the movement was intercepted, and she stood in his grasp! He held her at arms’ length and glared at her after the manner of a wild beast. The poor girl was a child in the iron grip of the man, and all at once he drew her toward him and began to look for the documents. “Don’t! For Heaven’s sake, have some respect for my sex!” gasped Margie. “You can have them.” “I can, eh? Well, hand them over.” Margie, with trembling fingers, did so, and at sight of the papers he uttered a gleeful cry. The next moment he released her, and she sank into the nearest chair. She saw him step back a pace and open the papers, over which he eagerly ran his eye. “Is this all you had, girl?” he suddenly demanded. “Yes.” “It’s a lie!” Margie’s face colored. “I want the others.” “I have no others.” “These are but letters from a lover. Where are the papers that once belonged to the old hag?” “That is not for me to tell.” “You defy me, eh?” “I defy no one.” “I’ll choke you to death but what I get the truth. I’ll have the right papers or your life!” “You must take my life, then.” The girl had strangely recovered her self-possession. She could look at him now without flinching, and the terrible hand dreaded a few moments before had no terrors for her now. Suddenly the man threw the letters upon the table and looked fiercely at the girl. She withstood his look like a heroine. “Be quick about it!” he cried. “I have no other papers,” calmly said Margie. He laughed derisively and then glanced toward the door. “I’ll fix you,” he exclaimed. “You’ve been in our road long enough, and the only sure way to get rid of you is to leave you here a fit subject for the morgue.” The moment he came toward her Margie sprang up.