the slip, and wrote out another for double the amount, if he believed the lady deserving; if not, a polite note informed the sender that his firm would gladly open an account with her, and he was sure her interests “would receive the best possible attention and advice.”  In this case he determined to accept the responsibility exactly as it was worded, ignoring the circumstances that had forced his hand.  He would make her nest egg hatch out what was required.  It should be an honest transaction in spite of its questionable inception.  Every dollar of that money should work overtime, for results must come quickly.

He gave his orders and laid his plans.  Never had his business interests appealed to him as keenly as at that moment, and never for a moment did he doubt the honesty of the lady’s villainy.  She would not “hold out on him.”

His first care that morning had been to make a luncheon appointment with his lawyer, and to elicit the information that, as far as his attorney knew, the incriminating correspondence had been destroyed when received.  “As soon as your instructions were carried out, Mr. Gard.  Of course, none of us quite realized the changes that were coming—­but—­what those letters would mean now!  Too much care cannot be taken.  I’ve often thought a code might be advisable in the future, when the written word must be relied on.”

Gard smiled grimly and agreed.  “Those letters would make a pretty basis for blackmail, wouldn’t they?  Oh, by the way, you are Victor Mahr’s lawyers, aren’t you?”

As he had half expected, he surprised a flash of suspicion and knowledge in the other’s eyes.

“What makes you speak of him in that connection?” laughed the lawyer.

“I don’t,” said Gard.  “I happened to be playing bridge with him last night and from something he let fall I gathered your firm had been acting for him.  Well, he needs the best legal advice that’s to be had, or I miss my guess.”  He rose and took leave of his friend, entered his motor and was driven rapidly uptown.

Still his thoughts were of Mrs. Marteen, and again unaccountable annoyance possessed him.  Confound it!  Mahr had been held up.  Clifton knew about it; that argued that Mahr had taken the facts, whatever they were, to them.  Had he told them who it was who threatened him?  Then Clifton knew that Mrs. Marteen was a—­Hang it!  What possible right had he to jump to the wild conviction that Victor Mahr had been blackmailed at all?  Because he was a friend of the lady’s—­a pretty reason that!  Did men make friends of—­Yes, they did; he intended to himself; why not that hound of a Mahr?  Clifton did know something.  Mahr was just the sort of scoundrel to drag in a woman’s name.  Why shouldn’t he in such a case?  Then, with one of his quick changes of mood, he laughed at himself.  “I’m jealous because I think I’m not the only victim!  It’s time I consulted a physician.  I’m going dotty.  She’s a wonder, though, that woman.