"Rather late," he complained. "I've been waiting for you anxiously, most
anxiously--but now you're here, I'm ready to forgive. Do you know, this
is the first opportunity I have had, since you honored me before, of
having one word in private with you?"

She ignored his remark. "I have brought the correspondence of which I
spoke."

"I never doubted it, my dear lady. But before we proceed to conclude
this little deal I want to ask you a question or two. Surely you will
not let me languish of curiosity. I want to know--tell me--how did you
ever hit upon this plan of yours?"

She unbent from her rigid attitude and answered, almost as if the words
were drawn from her against her will: "After Martin, my husband
died--I--I found myself poor, quite to my astonishment, and with Dorothy
to support. Among his effects--" She paused and turned scarlet; she was
angry at herself for answering, angry at him for daring to question her
thus intimately.

"You found--" prompted Gard.

"Well--" she hesitated, and then continued boldly--"some letters
from--never mind whom. They showed me that my husband had been most
cruelly robbed and mistreated; men had traded upon his honor, and had
ruined him. Then and there I saw my way. This man--these men--had
political aspirations. Their plans were maturing. I waited. Then I
'wondered if they would care to have the matter in their opponents'
hands.' The swindle would be good newspaper matter. They replied that
they would 'mind very much.' I succeeded in getting back something of