“How are you, Lester?” he said, and I can’t tell you what a tonic there was in the grip of his hand.  “What’s wrong this morning?”

“You know Mrs. Magnus?” I asked.

“Widow of Peter?  Yes; I’ve heard of her.”

“Somebody’s trying to do her out of fifty thousand dollars,” I said, and tossed the note across to him.  “What do you make of that?”

“Tell me about it,” he said, and studied it carefully, while I repeated the story Mrs. Magnus had told me.

“And now what do you make of it?” I asked again.

“I think the answer’s blackmail,” he said quietly.

“But that note?”

“A fake.”

“And the story?”

“Also a fake.”

“You mean she didn’t see him write it?”

“Look here, Lester,” demanded Godfrey impatiently, “you don’t mean to say that you believe any such rot?”

“No,” I answered; “I don’t see how I can believe it—­and yet, what did she tell it for?”

“She had to tell something.”

“That’s just it,” I objected; “she didn’t.”

“Well, then, she wanted to tell something to throw you off the track.  That was the best thing she could think of.”

“Why should she want to throw me off the track?”

“There are some women who would rather have a ghost in the family than a scandal.  I don’t suppose you know that Magnus had another wife living over in Jersey?”

“Another wife?”

“Oh, of course not a wife really—­your Mrs. Magnus has the prior claim.  But I fancy Number Two has asked to be provided for.”

I sat silent for a moment, casting this over in my mind.

“It’s just like a fool woman,” I said at last, “to try to throw dust in the eyes of the one man who might have helped her.  Heaven help a woman who won’t tell the truth to her lawyer!  I suppose there’s nothing to do but turn over the money?”

“Of course not.  Mrs. Magnus can afford it, and if it will give her peace of mind, why—­”

“All right,” I said.  “And thank you, Godfrey, for telling me.  I was imagining that either Mrs. Magnus was crazy or that some one was trying to bunco her.  This is different.  If she wants to lie to me, why, let her.”

“You’ll take it up to her yourself?”

“Yes.  I promised to have it at the house at eight o’clock to-night.”

I fancied that Godfrey’s eyes paused on mine for the merest instant as though he was about to say something more, but he merely nodded and said good-by and was off.

And I turned to the task of deciding which of Mrs. Magnus’ securities I should sell in order to get the best out of the market.  But more than once in the course of the afternoon a vague uneasiness seized me.  For, after all, Godfrey’s explanation did not account for Mrs. Magnus’ strained and frightened manner.  If the story she had told me was a lie, she was certainly a consummate actress.  I had never credited her with any ability in that direction.