That is the story
up to this moment."
"You appear to know the lady's secrets as well as mine."
"No, not as well as I know yours," Crosby answered. "Had I done so, I
might have outwitted you and have prevented her coming to Dorchester."
"For a man who so easily believes every tale he hears, you are an
exceedingly self-reliant person."
"And fortunate, too," said Crosby, "since I have an opportunity of
showing you the end of the story."
"A prophet, by gad!" exclaimed Rosmore.
"I entered this room in time to hear your transaction with Judge
Marriott," said Crosby. "Now the story ends in one of two ways. You have
two orders of release, one for Mistress Lanison, one for me. I know
their value, or you would not have been so anxious to get them, and I
have at least one friend in Dorchester who can execute those orders
without any question being raised. Those orders you will deliver to me,
here and now."
"May I know how else the story might end?" Rosmore asked contemptuously.
"With your death," was the quiet answer. "Oh, no, not murder; death in
fair fight. You are hardly likely to scream for help, I take it; you
have yourself carefully locked the door, and no one is likely to pass
along the alley outside that window.
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