He started suddenly forward and bent over the broken despatch box.

His long white fingers were running dexterously through the once orderly little packets.
"_Or something more important_ ?" he went on, as he came to the end of his stock.
Then he gave a little half-cry, half-gasp; and from the look on his face the woman saw that he realized what was missing.

He peered at her, with alert and narrow eyes, for a full minute of unbroken silence.
Then, with a little movement of finality, he turned away and put down the lamp.
"I regret it, but I must ask you for this--this document, without equivocation and without delay." She opened her lips to speak, but he cut in before any sound fell from them.
"Let there be no misunderstanding between us.

I know precisely what you have taken; and it will be in my hands _before you ever leave this room_!" She had a sense of destiny shaping itself before her, while she stood a helpless and disinterested spectator of the vague but implacable transformation which, in the end, must in one way or the other so vitally concern her.
"I have nothing," she answered simply.
He waved her protest aside.
"Madam, have you thought, or do you now know, what the cost of this will be to you ?" He was towering over her now.

She was wondering whether or not there was a ghost of a chance for her to snatch at his pistol.
"I can pay only what I owe," she maintained evasively.
He looked at her, and then at the locked door.