“’Sir,—­Your preposterous demands for money are wholly unwarrantable.  I have already helped you quite as much as you deserve.  However, for the sake of old times, and because you once helped me when I was in a terrible difficulty, I am willing to once more let you impose upon my good nature.  A friend of mine here, a Russian merchant, to whom I have sold my business, starts in a few days for an extended tour to many European and Asiatic ports in his yacht, and has invited me to accompany him as far as England.  Being tired of foreign parts, and desirous of seeing the old country once again after thirty years’ absence, I have decided to accept his invitation.  I don’t know when we may actually be in Europe, but I promise you that as soon as we touch a suitable port I will write to you again, making an appointment for you to see me in London.  But remember that if your demands are too preposterous I will not for a moment listen to them, and that I am the last man in the world to submit to persistent and unwarrantable blackmail.

  ’I am, sir,
      ’Yours truly,
          ‘Francis Smethurst.’

“The second letter was dated from Southampton,” continued the old man in the corner calmly, “and, curiously enough, was the only letter which Kershaw professed to have received from Smethurst of which he had kept the envelope, and which was dated.  It was quite brief,” he added, referring once more to his piece of paper.

“’Dear Sir,—­Referring to my letter of a few weeks ago, I wish to inform you that the Tsarskoe Selo will touch at Tilbury on Tuesday next, the 10th.  I shall land there, and immediately go up to London by the first train I can get.  If you like, you may meet me at Fenchurch Street Station, in the first-class waiting-room, in the late afternoon.  Since I surmise that after thirty years’ absence my face may not be familiar to you, I may as well tell you that you will recognize me by a heavy Astrakhan fur coat, which I shall wear, together with a cap of the same.  You may then introduce yourself to me, and I will personally listen to what you may have to say.

    ’Yours faithfully,
        ‘Francis Smethurst.’

“It was this last letter which had caused William Kershaw’s excitement and his wife’s tears.  In the German’s own words, he was walking up and down the room like a wild beast, gesticulating wildly, and muttering sundry exclamations.  Mrs. Kershaw, however, was full of apprehension.  She mistrusted the man from foreign parts—­who, according to her husband’s story, had already one crime upon his conscience—­who might, she feared, risk another, in order to be rid of a dangerous enemy.  Woman-like, she thought the scheme a dishonourable one, for the law, she knew, is severe on the blackmailer.