"How do you do, Mr. Cassey?" asked Miss Berwick. "Do you happen to
have my mortgage with you?"
"Mr. Cassey?" repeated Mr. Brandon with affected surprise. "He told
me his name was Reddy. How about it?" he asked, and his voice had the
ring of steel. "Have you been trying to deceive a government officer?"
The detected rascal dropped weakly into the chair whose back he had
been holding. He seemed near total collapse.
"Come now," said Mr. Wilson, stepping forward and tapping him on the
shoulder, "the game's up, Cassey. We've got you at last. The money
or the mortgage, Cassey. Come across with one or the other and come
across quick. It's that or jail. Take your choice."
Dan Cassey, shaking in every limb, tried to temporize, and stuttered
until he got red in the face and seemed on the point of apoplexy.
But the lawyer was inflexible, and at last Cassey took a key from
his pocket and opened a drawer from which he took a paper and handed
it over to Mr. Wilson. The latter ran his eyes over it and his face
lighted up with satisfaction.
"It's the mortgage, all right," he said, as he handed it over to
his client. "That settles his account with you, Miss Berwick, and
I congratulate you. But it doesn't settle his account with the law.
You contemptible scoundrel," he said, addressing Cassey, "you ought
to serve a good long term for this.
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