don't see how I can resist it. I should like, however, to have a little
further talk about it, for which I have not time now."

Mills rose.

"By all means," he said. "I do not suppose I shall be back here till nine
in the evening. I have had no exercise lately, and I think very likely I
shall get out of the train at Falmer, and walk over the downs."

Mr. Taynton's habitual courtesy came to his aid. He would have been
polite to a thief or a murderer, if he met him socially.

"Those cool airs of the downs are very invigorating." he said. "I will
not expect you therefore till half past nine that night. I shall dine at
home, and be alone."

"Thanks. I must be going. I shall only just catch my train to town."

Mills nodded a curt gesture of farewell, and left the room, and when he
had gone Mr. Taynton sat down again in the chair by the table, and
remained there some half hour. He knew well the soundness of his
partner's reasoning; all he had said was fatally and abominably true.
There was no way out of it. Yet to pay money to a blackmailer was, to the
legal mind, a confession of guilt. Innocent people, unless they were
abject fools, did not pay blackmail. They prosecuted the blackmailer. Yet
here, too, Mills's simple reasoning held good. He could not prosecute the
blackmailer, since he was not in the fortunate position of being
innocent. But if you paid a blackmailer once, you were for ever in his
power. Having once yielded, it was necessary to yield again. He must get
some assurance that no further levy would take place. He must satisfy