She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. " "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. .
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