"Five hundred dollars!" The woman gasped as she stared at her visitor.
"Why, you are a scoundrel, and nothing less."

Grimsby smiled, and rubbed his hands. He felt sure of his quarry, and
it mattered little to him what he was called. It was all in the way of
business, so he told himself. Then he picked up his hat from the floor
where he had deposited it, and made as though he was about to leave.

"Very well, then," he casually remarked. "If you think it is too much
I am sorry. Next week, perhaps, you will consider it very cheap, and
would be willing to give far more. But it may be too late then.
However, if you are unwilling to meet my moderate demand, it is no use
for me to remain longer."

He started to leave the fire-place, but the woman detained him.

"Don't go just yet," she ordered. "I realise that I must give you
something. But isn't your price exorbitant?"

"It might be for some, but not for you, Mrs. Randall. I understand
that you are one of the largest tax-payers in this city, and in your
own name at that. Why, I am astonished at myself for my moderation in
asking for so little from such a rich woman. I might have made it a
thousand at least."

For a few minutes the woman remained in deep thought. Grimsby never
took his eyes from her face. He was quite elated with himself, for he
felt sure of success.

At length the woman gave a weary sigh, rose slowly from her chair, and