“I am sorry to hear that,” he answered quietly. “I take it you mean mental trouble.” “Yes. Perhaps before I say more you had better read this,” and quickly producing the anonymous letter from her bag, she handed it to him. He read it through calmly, his face immobile. Then he read it again. After that he folded it and handed it back to her. “An unfortunate incident,” he observed as he lit a cigarette. “Have you any idea who the writer is?” “Not the slightest.” “A woman, I should say, possibly in league with some man. You won’t pay, of course.” “But then what am I to do? Think what will happen if I don’t pay, doctor!” “Am I to conclude from that that the allegation is true? Did you write the letters, and were the others written to you?” Cora colored violently, and looked down. “Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper. “That is a pity,” the doctor answered. “Still Mrs. Hartsilver, even the best of us make mistakes at times, and when a mistake has been made the only thing to do is to think of the best way of avoiding unpleasant consequences. I know perhaps better than you do how on occasions a woman’s heart can temporarily overrule her brain and better judgment, and for that reason I look leniently on what I call ‘heart influence.’ Did your husband know anything of this? You will, I am sure, in the circumstances forgive my asking.” “So far as I know, he knew nothing,” Cora answered quickly. “But since receiving that letter I have wondered if he could, by some means, have found out, or if someone can have told him, and whether--whether it can have been that knowledge which drove him to end his life.” “I think that is possible, Mrs. Hartsilver; yet I don’t consider you are to blame. I have learned several things concerning your marriage, why you married a man you never loved, and why----” “Who told you that?” Cora interrupted. “Oh, Doctor Johnson, how did you find out?” “That is not of consequence, nor is the fact of your husband taking his life of consequence now. The past is finished and done with. What matters to-day--the only thing that matters--is what is going to happen in the immediate future.” He paused, and then continued: “You say you want my advice, but if I give it I shall expect you, mind, to follow it.” “You may depend on my doing that.” “Good. My advice, then, is that you do not, in any circumstances, pay this hush money, or pay any hush money at all. The writer of the letter you have shown me is almost for certain a professional blackmailer, perhaps the only class of criminal to get, in this country, what he deserves when caught. What we must do then is set a trap for him--or her. And that I think I can do successfully, because I did it comparatively recently with most satisfactory results in a somewhat similar case. Do you remember Lord Froissart’s suicide, and before that his daughter’s suicide, Mrs. Hartsilver?” “Indeed I do.”