careful of your language. I said my services would cost you a hundred
thousand dollars. Take the proposition or leave it, Mr. John
Cavendish. Perhaps, with a moment's thought, the sum asked may not
seem excessive."

"But--but," the other stammered, all courage leaving him, "I haven't
the money."

"Of course not," the threat on Enright's face changing to a smile.
"But the prospects that you will have are unusually good. I am quite
willing to speculate on your fortunes. A memoranda for legal services
due one year from date--such as I have already drawn up--and bearing
your signature, will be quite satisfactory. Glance over the items,
please; yes, sit here at the table. Now, if you will sign that there
will be no further cause for you to feel any uneasiness--this line,
please."

Cavendish grasped the penholder in his fingers, and signed. It was the
act of a man dazed, half stupefied, unable to control his actions.
With trembling hand, and white face, he sat staring at the paper,
scarcely comprehending its real meaning. In a way it was a confession
of guilt, an acknowledgment of his fear of exposure, yet he felt
utterly incapable of resistance. Enright unlocked the door, and
projected his head outside, comprehending clearly that the proper time
to strike was while the iron was hot.

Calling Miss Healey, one of his stenographers, he made her an official
witness to the document and the signature of John Cavendish.

Not until ten minutes later when he was on the street did it occur to