“Twenty thousand, then,” he said. “Only you and I would know. Your principals could never hold it against you. Isn’t it a good offer?” She made a gesture of despair. “It’s no good.” “Twenty thousand no good!” he jeered. “Think again, Miss Cartwright. It will pay you better to stand in with me than give me up.” “No, no!” she cried, half hysterically. “It’s all I can afford,” he said. Her manner seemed so strange, that for the first time since he had found her in his room, he began to doubt whether, after all, it was merely the splendid acting he had supposed. “I can’t accept,” she told him. “I’ve _got_ to get that necklace; it means more than any money to me.” He looked at her keenly, seeking to gauge the depth of her emotion. “Then they’ve got some hold on you,” he asserted. “No,” she assured him, “I must get the necklace.” “So you’re going to make me fight you then?” he questioned. “I’ve got to fight,” she exclaimed. “Look here,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “let’s get this thing right. You won’t accept any--shall we call it compromise?--and you won’t tell me for whom you are acting. And you won’t admit that you are doing this because someone has such a hold on you that you must obey. Is that right, so far?” For a moment she had a wild idea of telling him, of putting an end to the scene that was straining her almost to breaking-point. She knew he could be chivalrous and tender, and she judged he could be ruthless and hard if necessity compelled. But above all, and even stronger than her fear of irrevocably breaking with him and being judged hereafter as one unworthy, was the dread of Taylor and that warrant that could at his will send Amy to prison and her mother possibly to her grave. She hardened herself to go through with the ordeal. “So far you are right,” she admitted. “Then it remains only for us two to fight. I hate fighting women. A few hours ago I would have sworn that you and I never could fight, but a few hours have shown me that I’m as liable to misread people as--as Monty, for example. You say you’ve got to fight. Very well then; I accept the challenge, and invite you to witness my first shot.” He walked to the door through which she had come and opening it, took the key from her side of it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. “What do you mean?” she cried. “Merely that I’m going to keep you here,” he retorted. “I was afraid we might be interrupted.” “Open that door!” she commanded quickly. “When I am ready no doubt I shall,” he returned. “You wouldn’t do that?” she cried, beginning to realize that she was to have no easy victory if indeed victory were to be her reward. “I regret the necessity,” he said. “These methods don’t particularly appeal to me, but we have declared war, and there’s no choice.” “But I don’t understand,” she said nervously.