“What do you know about him?” Taylor asked quickly. It was evident that her news seemed very important to him. “What’s his business? How does he make his living? Do you know his people?” “I don’t think he does anything,” she said hesitatingly. “Nothing, eh?” Taylor laughed disagreeably. “I suppose you think that’s clear proof he couldn’t be a smuggler?” “I’m sure you are wrong,” she said with spirit; “he’s my friend.” “Your friend!” Taylor returned. His manner from that of the bluff cross-examiner changed to one that had something confidential and friendly in it. “Why, that ought to make it easier.” “Easier?” she repeated. “What do you mean by that?” “Well, you can get into his confidence. See?” “But you’re wrong,” she said indignantly. “I’m sure he is absolutely innocent.” “Then you’ll be glad of a chance to prove we’re wrong and you’re right.” “But I couldn’t spy on a friend,” she declared. “If your friend is innocent it won’t do him any harm,” Taylor observed, “and he’d never know. But if he’s guilty he deserves punishment, and you’ve no right to try and protect him. Any person would only be doing right in helping to detect a criminal; but you,”--he paused significantly,--“it’s just as much your duty as it is mine.” He showed her his gold badge of authority for a brief moment, and although it terrified her there was too much loyalty in her nature to betray a friend or even to spy upon one. “No, no! I can’t do it,” she said. “So you’re going back on your agreement,” he sneered. “Two can play that game. Suppose I go back on mine, too?” “You wouldn’t do that,” she cried horrified at his threat. “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.” “How can I?” she asked despairingly. “I’ll leave that to you,” he answered. “But couldn’t you do it?” she pleaded. “Or one of your men? Why ask me?”