other night and I said to myself, says I: 'Gee whiz, couldn't I start something if I let out what I know about this gang!' Talk about earthquakes! They'd— Here! What are you doing? Get out from behind this counter! I'll call a cop if you—"
The pallid, impassioned face of Prince Waldemar de Bosky was close to hers; his dark eyes were blazing not a foot from her nose.
"If I thought you were that kind of a snake I'd kill you," he said quietly, levelly.
"Are—are you threatening me?" sputtered Mrs. Jacobs, trying in vain to look away from those compelling eyes. She could not believe her senses.
"No. I am merely telling you what I would do if you were that kind of a snake."
"See here, don't you get gay! Don't you forget who you are addressing, young man. I am—"
"I am addressing a second-hand junk dealer, madam. You are at home now, not sitting in the big chair up at—at—you know where. Please bear that in mind."
"I'll call some one from out front and have you chucked into—"
"Do you even think of violating the confidence we repose in you?" he demanded. "The thought must have been in your mind or you would not have uttered that remark a moment ago. You are one of us, and we've treated you as a—a queen. I want to know just where you stand, Mrs. Jacobs."
"You can't come in here and bawl me out like this, you little shrimp! I'll—"
"Keep still! Now, listen to me. If I should go to
