"Please, please, listen," she implored, throwing out her hands. "You must! You must! Lafe's always been so good. Won't you let him live?... I'll tell him about your wanting the money.... You shall have it! I'll make any promise for him you want me to, and he'll keep it.... He didn't kill Maudlin Bates, and I believe you know who did." Morse lowered his lids until his eyes looked like grey slits across his face. "Supposing I do," he taunted. "As I've said, Grandoken knows too much about me. He won't be the first one I've put out of my way." He said this emphatically; he would teach her he was not to be thwarted; that when he desired anything, Heaven and earth, figuratively speaking, would have to move. He frowned darkly at her as Jinnie cut in swiftly: "You killed my father. He told me you did." Morse flicked an ash from a cigar he had lighted, and his eyes grew hard, like rocks in a cold, gray dawn. "So you know all my little indiscretions, eh?" he gritted. "Then don't you see I can't give you--your liberty?" Liberty! What did he mean by taking her liberty away? She asked him with beating heart. "Just this, my dear child," he advanced mockingly. "There are places where people're taken care of and--the world thinks them dead. In fact, your father had a taste of what I can do. Only he happened to----" "Did you put him somewhere?" "Yes." "Where?" "Same kind of a place I'm going to put you----" He hesitated a moment and ended, "A mad house!" "Did you let him come home to me?" "Not I. Damn the careless keepers! He skipped out one day, and I didn't know until he'd a good start of me. I followed as soon as possible, but you were gone. Now--now--then, to find _such_ a place for you!" Jinnie's imagination called up the loathsome thing he mentioned and terrified her to numbness. At that moment she understood what her father had written in that sealed letter to Lafe Grandoken. But she couldn't allow her mind to dwell upon his threat against herself. "What'd you mean when you said I could save my friends?" "You're fond of Mrs. Grandoken, aren't you?" Jinnie nodded, trying to swallow a lump in her throat. "And--and there's a--a--blind child too--who could be hurt easily." Jinnie's living world reeled before her eyes. During this speech she had lost every vestige of color. She sprang toward him and her fingers went blue-white from the force of her grip on his arm. "Oh, you couldn't, you wouldn't hurt poor little Bobbie?" she cried hysterically. "He can't see and he's sick, terribly ill all the time. I'll do anything you say--anything to help 'em." Then she fell to the floor, groveling at his feet. "Get up! You needn't cry; things'll be easy enough for you if you do exactly as I tell you. The first order I give you is to stay here quietly until I come again." As he spoke, he lifted her up, and she stood swaying pitiably. "Can't I let Peg know where I am?" she entreated when she could speak. "Please! Please!"