“But—­what for?  I haven’t done anything.”  Incensed at the fellow’s total indifference, she ran on, fiercely:  “I won’t go.  I’m no crook.  You can’t hustle me out like this.  I’ll fight.  I’ve got friends and I’ve got money, and I’m going to stay right here.  You haven’t anything on me, for I haven’t done anything.  I’m behaving myself, and I’m clean.  You can tell Inspector Snell so for me.”

The policeman silently drew from his pocket an envelope, which he handed to her.

“Before you talk any louder suppose you give this the once over,” he said.

Lilas glanced at the proffered package with a sneer.

“Bah!  Don’t you think I know a warrant?” Then, as she opened the envelope and scanned its contents, she started.  To conceal the tremor of her hand she spread the documents upon her center-table and turned her back to the visitor.  An odd rigidity crept over her.  When she swung about to speak her voice was harsh, but her defiance had lessened.

“I don’t understand—­”

“Oh!  I guess you do.  Anyhow, the whole story’s there.  You see, Armistead spilled—­that’s why he jumped his bond; he was afraid of Melcher’s gunmen.  We got Sullivan, too.  He was tough, but we got him finally; and as for Knight!  Say, that little grafter sprained his wrist signing affidavits.”

“Rot!  You don’t expect me to believe all this?” Lilas demanded, uncertainly.  “Why, these confessions are probably phony.  You dictated them yourself, for all I know.  Anyhow, they don’t mean anything to me.”

“Well, you’d ought to know whether they do or not.”  The policeman calmly refolded the papers.

“What about Max?  What does he say about this?”

“Oh, he takes it all right.  He knows we’ve got it on him, and he knows when to lay down a hand.  Max is a good sport.  But I ain’t here to swap gossip.  If I was you I’d take it on the run; you can’t win anything by sticking.”

“I won’t go,” stormed the girl.  “It’s a put-up job to get me away.”

“Have it your own way, but I’ll be back at eight with a regular honest-to-goodness warrant.”  The officer nodded and walked out heavily.

When she was alone again Lilas felt as if her knees would give way.  For the first time she realized that she had no single friend to whom she could turn or in whose assistance she could put faith.  Before the plain-clothes man she had maintained a pretense of firmness, but it had been mere bravado, for in her soul she had known those documents to be authentic.  Their contents proved them so, and, now that the police knew all, resistance was plainly futile.

During her last talk with Bob Wharton Lilas had felt unbounded confidence in her ability to go through with her plans, come what might, but now the mere knowledge that those plans were known changed everything.  In common with all evil-doers, Lilas entertained an exaggerated distrust of the law and a keen fear of its trickeries.  The fact that she had been betrayed, the fact that she now had the open hostility of the police to combat, convinced her that the game was up.