What made us think there might be something in it was that we got it
second hand from an old servant of Mahr's. _He_ told the man that told
us; but the old boy's gone, too."

Gard rose from his chair and resumed his pacing. Brencherly remained
seated, patiently waiting. Presently Gard turned on him.

"That'll do, Brencherly. You may go; and don't let me catch you tipping
Mahr off that I've been having you rate him, do you understand?"

The detective sprang to his feet with alacrity. "Oh, no, Mr. Gard--never
a word. You know, sir, you're one of our very best clients."

Left alone, Gard sat down wearily, ran his hands through his hair, then
held his throbbing temples between his clenched fists. Somehow, on his
slender evidence, that was no evidence in fact, he was convinced of the
truth of Mahr's perfidy; convinced that the lady rated A1 by the keenest
detective bureau in the country had obtained the proofs of guilt and
used them with the same perfect business sagacity she had used in his
own case. It sickened him. Somehow he could forgive her handling such a
case as his. It was purely commercial; but this other was uglier stuff.
His soul rebelled. He would not have it so; he would not believe--and
yet he was convinced against his own logic. He had tried to cheat the
arithmetic when he had tried to make her extortion money an honestly
made acquisition. And she had refused to be a party to the flimsy
self-deception.

Mrs. Marteen was a blackmailer, an extortioner--that was the truth, the
truth that he would not let himself recognize. Her depredations probably
had much wider scope than he guessed. He must save her from herself; he