“You burned a package of letters wrapped in a sheet indorsed ‘Denzlow,’” interposed Anice, “but they happened to be a sheaf of insurance circulars. With Mr. Denzlow’s permission (and on my promise not to make use of them while he was alive) I bought those letters at the time you thought _you_ bought them back from him. He got extra money, and the letters were supposed to be transmitted to you through me. I kept the originals. If you doubt it, here are certified copies. You will see the notary’s signature was dated last June. Does that convince you?” “Where’s the letters themselves?” “With my brother. He is one of the subeditors of the Ballston _Herald_. He is holding them subject to my orders. When he receives word from me he will either turn them over to the Federal authorities (for it is a United States Government matter, as you know, with a term of imprisonment involved, and not a mere State offence that can be settled with a few thousand dollars), or else he will publish the whole correspondence in his paper, and leave the Government to act as it sees fit. Does the card improve my hand?” Conover made no immediate answer. When he spoke there was no emotion in his dry, business-like tones. “Yes, it does,” he admitted, “and I’m glad to see I was wrong about the condition of those brains of yours. You’ve got me. I could bluff anybody else, but I guess you know my game too well. A bluff’s a blamed good anchor in a financial storm. But after the ship’s wrecked I never heard that the cap’n got any special good out of the anchor. So we’ll play straight, if you like. How much do you want?” “How much?” she repeated, doubtful of his meaning. “How much will you take for those Denzlow letters? Come now, let’s cut out the measly diplomacy and get to the point. The man who gets ahead in my line of work is the man who knows when to pay hush-money and when not to. This is the time to pay. How much? Make me a cash offer.” “You don’t understand,” protested Anice, again with a pretty, imperious gesture restraining Clive. “I am not one of the blackmailers you spend so much of your time silencing. I——” “No? I never yet heard a scream that was so loud a big enough check wouldn’t gag it. This interview isn’t so allooring that I’m stuck on stretching it out any longer. Make your offer.” “I’ve explained to you that I want none of your money.” “Then what—Oh!” broke off Conover, clicking his teeth and narrowing his eyes to gleaming slits, “I think I see. The Governorship, eh?” Anice inclined her head. “So I’m to throw it to Standish? H’m! And yet you say you’re not putting the hooks in me! If that isn’t cold, straight, all-wool blackmail, I don’t know what is. You think you owe me something because I didn’t treat your father just square. So you pay the grudge off by blackmailing me. Maybe your holy New England conscience is too near-sighted to see it’s only in the devil’s ledger that two wrongs make a right.”