“‘What is it?’ she said, ’whatever can you have to say that can be of any possible interest to me?’

“‘Why,’ I replied, ’to begin with I know something about your character!’

“‘Then you’re a fortune teller!’ she exclaimed eagerly, ’can you read hands?’

“‘I can read everything,’ I said looking hard at her, ’hands, head, and feet.  I am psychometrist, dentist, physician, metaphysician all in one!’

“‘I don’t understand,’ she said looking queer, ’what is the meaning of all this?’

“‘It means,’ I said slowly, ’that I have discovered who sent those anonymous letters to Herbert Delmas!’

“‘Anonymous letters! how dare you!’ she cried, ’what have anonymous letters to do with me?’

“‘A very great deal, madam,’ I replied, ’shall I remind you of their contents and the occasions on which you wrote them?’ I did so.  I recited every word in them and told her the hour, day and place—­namely, when and where each was written, and I summed up by asking what she would pay me not to tell Delmas.

“For some minutes she was too overcome to say anything; she sat grim and silent, her pale eyes glaring at me, her freckled fingers toying with the diamonds.  She was baffled and perplexed—­she did not know what course to pursue!

“‘Well,’ I repeated, ‘what have you to say?  Do you deny it?’

“She roused herself with an effort.  ‘No,’ she said venomously, ’I don’t deny it.  Denial would be useless.  How did you find out?  Through one of the maids, I suppose.  They were bribed to spy on me!’

“‘How I discovered it is of no consequence,’ I said, ’but what is of consequence to you as much as to me—­is the payment for hushing it up!’

“‘Payment!’ she cried, raising her voice to a positive shriek in her excitement, ‘pay you—­you nasty, beastly, cadging toad.  You—­’ but I can’t repeat all she said, it would make you both blush!  I let her go on till she had worn herself out and then I said, ’Well, Miss Barlow, why all this fuss—­why these fireworks!  It can’t do you any good.  We must come to business sooner or later.  If you don’t pay me handsomely I shall tell Miss Roberts as well as Mr. Delmas.’

“‘Mr. Delmas won’t believe you,’ she hissed, ’you’ve no proofs at all!’

“‘Perhaps not,’ I said, ’but I’ve proofs of this.  I know you have two deformed toes on your left foot, that all your teeth are false, and that you go to that charlatan, Howard Prince, in Californian Street to be faked up.  I must be brutal—­it’s no use being anything else to women of your sort.  You’ve got a certain species of eczema, and you flatter yourself that no one but you and Prince are aware of it.  What have you got to say now, Miss Barlow?’ But Ella Barlow had fainted.  When she came to, which I managed after vigorous application of salts and water—­the effects of the latter on her complexion I leave you to imagine—­I again broached the subject.