“You were wrong,” she said triumphantly, “there is no necklace. I knew I was right.” “You’re crazy,” he retorted brutally. “You said it was in the tobacco-pouch,” she reminded him, “and I’ve searched and it isn’t there at all.” “You’re trying to protect him,” Taylor snarled. “You’re stuck on him, but you can’t lie to me and get away with it.” “No, no, no,” she protested. “Look, here’s the very pouch, and there’s no necklace in it.” “How did you get hold of it?” he snapped. It was a moment of bitter failure for the deputy-surveyor. The sign for which he had waited patiently, and eagerly, too, despite his impassive face, was, after all, nothing but a token of disappointment. He had hoped, now that events had given him a hold over Miss Cartwright, to find her well-fitted for a sort of work that would have been peculiarly useful to his service. But her ready credulity in another man’s honesty proved one of two things. Either that she lacked the intuitive knowledge to be a useful tool or else that she was deliberately trying to deceive him. But none had seen Daniel Taylor show that he realized himself in danger of being beaten. “He left it lying on the table,” she assured him eagerly. Taylor’s sneer was not pleasant to see. “Oh, he left it on the table, did he?” he scoffed. “Well, of course there’s no necklace in it then. Don’t you see you’ve let him suspect you, and he’s just trying to bluff you.” “It isn’t that,” she asserted. “He hasn’t got it, I tell you.” “I know he has,” the implacable Taylor retorted, “and you’ve got to find out this very night where it is. You’ll probably have to search his room.” She shrank back at the very thought of it. “I couldn’t,” she cried. “Oh, I couldn’t!” “Yes you could, and you will,” he said, in his truculent tone. “And if you land him, use the same signal, pull down the shade in his room. We’ll be watching, and I’ve found a way to get there from the balcony.” “I can’t,” the girl cried in desperation. “I’ve done what you asked. I won’t try to trap an innocent man.” He looked at her threateningly. “Oh, you won’t, eh? Well, you will. I’ve been pretty nice to you, but I’m sick of it. You’ll go through for me, and you’ll go through right. I’ve had your sister followed--see here, look at this--” He showed her the fake warrant Duncan had prepared at his bidding. “This is a warrant for her arrest, and unless you land that necklace to-night, she’ll be in the Tombs in the morning.” “Not that, not that?” she begged, covering her face with her hands. “It’s up to you,” he retorted, a smile of satisfaction lighting up his face. He could see that he would be able to hold Amy’s warrant over her head whenever he chose. She was beaten. “But what can I do?” she said piteously. “What can I do?”