"Yes; an' you put dem on us," the tall man interrupted.

She turned swiftly on him, poising her small head over her bare
breasts with a superb scorn.

"Why do you lie?" she demanded hotly. "Why do you lie? Must you hide
even from your own blame behind my skirts? Mother of God!"--an
outstretched hand called the tawdry Virgin on the wall to witness--
"you are neither man nor good beast--just----"

The tall man interrupted. "Don' go, on!" he said quietly. "Don' go
on!" His eyes were shining, and he carried one hand beneath his coat.
"Don' dare to go on!"

"Dare!" The woman lifted her face insolently, brought up her bare arm
with a slow sweep, and puffed once at an imaginary cigarette. There
was so much of defiance in the action that Dawson, watching her,
breathless, started to his feet with something hard and heavy in his
hand. It was the image.

"Thief!" said the woman slowly, gazing under languorous eyelids at
the white, venomous face of the tall man. "Thief and----" she leaned
forward and said the word, the ultimate and supreme insult of the
coast.

It was barely said when there flashed something in the man's hand. He
was poised on his toes, leaning forward a little, his arm swinging
beside him. The woman flung both arms before her face and cried out;
then leaned rapidly aside as a pointed knife whizzed past her head