The letters were written with caution, Stamps had said, and the mention of names had been avoided in them; and, though he ground his teeth again as he thought of this, he realised that the knowledge brought by a name would be of no value to him. Long ago he had said to big Tom in the cabin on the hillside: "If ever we meet face to face knowing each other, I swear I will not spare him." Spare him? Spare him what? What vengeance could he work which would wipe out one hour of that past woe? None. He had grown sick to death in dwelling with the memories he could not bury. He had been born cursed by the temperament which cannot outlive. There are such. And it was the temperament to which vengeance brings no relief. No; if they two met face to face, what words could be said--what deeds could be done? His forehead and hands grew damp with cold sweat as he confronted the despair of it. "Better that I should not know his name," he cried. "Better that we should never meet. Pray God that he is dead; pray God the earth does not hold him." The man who had followed him had plainly but one purpose, which was the obtaining of money. He looked as if he needed it directly. He would go to him and pay him what he asked and get the papers. They must be in no other hands than his own. When he had them, Baird and himself would destroy them together, and that would be the end. He encountered no difficulties when he went in search of the address Stamps had given him. The room he had directed him to was over a small store on the south side of Pennsylvania Avenue. When he entered it he saw at once that the man whose circumstances reduced him to living in it must be one whose need of money was great indeed. It was entirely unfurnished, except for a mattress lying on the floor, and Stamps was stretched upon it, coughing and feverish. "Come in," he said. "I knowed ye'd be here purty soon. Thar ain't no chair to ax ye to set down in." "I do not want to sit," said Latimer. "You are ill. You caught cold last night." "I s'pose I did, durn it," answered Stamps. "I got drenched to the skin, an' I hadn't nothin' dry to put on when I got home. But I'd seen ye--an' told ye what I'd 'lowed to tell ye." "Where are the papers you spoke of?" Latimer asked. Stamps's feverish lips stretched themselves in an agreeable smile. "They ain't yere," he answered; "an' they won't be yere till I've got the pay fur 'em. Ef thar was names in 'em they'd cost ye a heap more than five hundred dollars--an' they'd cost ye more anyhow ef I hadn't a use for that five hundred jest this particular time." "Where are they?" enquired Latimer. He meant to waste no words. "They're in North Ca'lliny," answered the little mountaineer, cheerfully. "An' I've got a woman thar es'll send 'em when I want 'em." "She may send them when you wish." Stamps fell into a paroxysm of coughing, clutching his side. "Will ye give five hundred?" he panted when it was over. "Yes."