“I see your point. Well, can you, without committing yourself, hint to me the reason you believe the lady, whose identity you have practically revealed to me, ransacked Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s safe? Was it, should you say, for the intrinsic value of the things stolen, or was there some deeper reason?” “Such as?” “Documents, compromising letters, anything of that sort?” “I am afraid I must not answer that either. You see, one has to be so careful. My idea in telling you as much as I have is that you should, without, of course, making any definite statement, hint in your paper that the crime was committed by a young widow well known in Society; you might go so far as to say the widow lost her husband in tragic circumstances comparatively recently, and you might also work in some fancy padding of your own. You could add that you had obtained your information from a trustworthy source.” “Meaning you.” “Of course. Who else?” “And what terms do you propose?” “That I must leave to you to suggest.” “I would sooner the offer came from you, Mr. Stapleton.” Stapleton hesitated a moment, then: “Would a ten-pound note about meet the case? You see, you score by getting what I believe you call a ‘scoop’ for your paper.” “And run the risk of being fired if the lady hinted at should think fit to bring an action against my paper. Oh, no, Mr. Stapleton, I am not out to take sporting chances for the sake of pocketing a tenner. If you had said eighty or a hundred pounds I might--I say might--have felt tempted to take a chance, but a tenner----” He rose, preparatory to leaving. “Wait a minute, Hopford, wait a minute,” Stapleton exclaimed, trying to conceal his eagerness as he laid a hand on the lad’s shoulder to detain him. “I asked you to name a sum, remember--I have no idea what terms are usual in such cases. Sit down again and I may, after all, be able to meet your wishes.” With assumed reluctance the reporter sank back into the chair from which he had just risen, and for another ten minutes he and Stapleton continued to converse. And when, finally, the former left the house, he carried in his breast-pocket five new ten-pound notes, and chuckled as he thought of Stapleton’s promise to hand him five more notes on the publication of the scoop. CHAPTER X. A PARAGRAPH FOR THE PAPERS. “Fifty pounds easily earned,” Hopford murmured as he strolled along Maida Vale, looking about him for a taxi. “I thought all along that fellow was hot stuff, in spite of the way the papers cocker him up. And so he wants people to think Mrs. Hartsilver committed, or at any rate had a hand in, that theft? What a blackguard! Now, I wonder why he owes her a grudge? Yes, he must owe her a grudge, and a pretty bad one, or he would never go so far as that.”