"I don't understand," he said, slowly, with the air of a bewildered
child.
"It's plain enough," replied the other, impatiently. "I tell you I
want sixty thousand dollars of the money you have with you. You can
understand that, can't you?"
"But how?" expostulated Allen. "You don't mean to rob me, do you,
Harry?" he asked with a laugh.
"You're a very stupid person for so clever a one," Holcombe said,
impatiently. "You must give me sixty thousand dollars--and if you
don't, I'll take it. Come, now, where is it--in that box?" He pointed
with his finger toward a square travelling-case covered with black
leather that stood open on the table filled with papers and blue
envelopes.
"Take it!" exclaimed Allen. "You, Henry Holcombe? Is it you who are
speaking? Do I hear you?" He looked at Holcombe with eyes full of
genuine wonder and a touch of fear. As he spoke his hand reached out
mechanically and drew the leather-bound box toward him.
"Ah, it is in that box, then," said Holcombe, in a quiet, grave tone.
"Now count it out, and be quick."
"Are you drunk?" cried the other, fiercely. "Do you propose to turn
highwayman and thief? What do you mean?" Holcombe reached quickly
across the table toward the box, but the other drew it back, snapping
the lid down, and hugging it close against his breast. "If you move,
Holcombe," he cried, in a voice of terror and warning, "I'll call the
people of the house and--and expose you."
"Expose me, you idiot," returned Holcombe, fiercely.
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