"Well, well," he said at last, relaxing his gaze, "I almost believe
you."

"There's no use going any further, Mr. Knapp, unless you believe me
altogether."

"I see you understand what I was going to say," he said quietly. "But
if you didn't send that, who did?"

"Well, if I were to make a guess, I should say it was the man who wrote
this."

I tossed him in turn the note I had received in the afternoon, bidding
me sell everything.

The King of the Street looked at it carefully, and his brows drew lower
and lower as its import dawned on him. The look of angry perplexity
deepened on his face.

"Where did you get this?"

I detailed the circumstances.

The anger that flashed in his eyes was more eloquent than the outbreak
of curses I expected to hear.

"Um!" he said at last with a grim smile. "It's lucky, after all, that
you had something besides cotton in that skull of yours, Wilton."

"A fool might have been caught by it," I said modestly.