“Well, this is something like!  Didn’t think you’d turn up for an hour.  Let’s have it.”  This with a low chuckle—­the nearest he ever got to a laugh.

“Something dreadful has happened, Mr. Mangan,” she began, stumbling over her words, her knees shaking under her.  “I thought I had wrapped the mantilla up with the pieces I brought you last night, but I see now that—­”

“You thought!  Say, what are you giving me?  Ain’t you got it?”

“I have not, and I don’t know what has become of it.  It was not in the box this morning, and—­”

“It wasn’t in the box this morning!” he roared.  “See here, what kind of a damn fool do you take me for?” He wheeled suddenly, caught her by the wrist, dragged her clear of the door, and shut it behind her.

“Now, Mrs. Stanton,” he said, in cold, incisive tones, “let’s you and I have this out, and I want to tell you right here that I believe you’re lying, and I’ve been suspecting it for some time.  Now, make a clean breast of it.  You’ve pawned it, haven’t you?”

“I—­pawn it?  You think I—­ I won’t allow you to speak to me in that way.  I—­”

“Oh, cut that out, it won’t wash here.  Now, listen!  I’ve got to get that mantilla, see?  And I’m going to get it if I go through every pawn-shop in town with a fine-tooth comb.  I orter to have had better sense than to let you take it out of the shop.  Now open up, and I’ll help you straighten out things.  Where is it?  Come, now—­no side-tracking.”

She had sunk down on the chair, her fingers tightly interlocked, his words stunning her like blows.  Their full meaning she missed in her dazed condition.  All she knew was that, in some way, she must defend herself.

“Mr. Mangan, will you please listen to me?  I have not pawned it, and I would never dream of doing such a thing.  I can only think that some one has taken it from the box—­I don’t know who.  I came to you the moment I discovered the loss.  I thought perhaps I had wrapped it up with the other pieces I brought you last night, or that I had dropped it in the street on my way here.  And, yet, none of these things seemed possible when I began to think about it.  I will do all I can to pay for it.  You can take its value from my work until it is all paid.”

Mangan, who had been pacing the floor, hearing nothing of her explanation—­his mind intent upon his next move—­dragged a chair next to hers.

“Now, pull yourself together for a minute, Mrs. Stanton.  I’m not going to be ugly.  I’m going to make this just as easy as I can for you.  You’ve got a lot of common sense, and you’re some different from the women who handle our stuff.  I’ve seen that, and that’s why I’ve trusted you.  Now, think of me a little.  That mantilla don’t belong to Rosenthal’s.  It belongs to a big customer who lives up near the Park, and who left it here on condition we had it mended on time.  It’s worth $250 if it’s