against that wall there! So! Now hand out that stuff of mine—every line and rag of it!"
It was the woman who spoke next.
"I have nothing to hand out."
"I'll give you ten seconds," protested Ganley. "I'll give you ten seconds to get those papers of mine into my hand here, every shred of 'em!"
"I have no papers of yours," declared the more and more terrified woman.
"I'm no fool—I saw 'em—I caught you at it!"
"Will you leave my cabin?"
"Then explain what you ve got stuck down your waist there!"
"It's nothing of yours."
"Hand it out, or I'll rip those clothes off your back!"
"There's nothing to hand out."
"Hand it out—or I'll blow it out!" came the low-toned threat, driven home with an oath.
"I can't," came the woman's answer, scarcely more than a whisper.
"Hand it out!"
Then came a second or two of unbroken silence.
"You're going to shoot!" gasped the woman. It was only too evident that Ganley had stepped closer to her.
