THE BRASS BOWL
hall to the pantry, returning presently with a glass brimming with an amber-tinted, effervescent liquid.
"Champagne," he announced, licking his lips. "Wish I had Maitland's means to gratify my palate. He knows good wine. … Here, my dear, gulp this down," placing the glass to the girl's lips and raising her head that she might swallow without strangling.
As it was, she choked and gasped, but after a moment began to show some signs of having benefited by the draught, a faint color dawning in her cheeks.
"That's some better," commended the burglar, not unkindly. "Now, if you please, we'll stop talking pretty and get down to brass tacks. Buck up, now, and answer my questions. And don't be afraid; I'm holding no great grudge for what you did this afternoon. I appreciate pluck and grit as much as anybody, I guess, though I do think you ran it pretty close, peaching on a pal after you'd lifted the jewels. By the way, why did you do it?"
"Because. … But you wouldn't understand if I told you."
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