“I’m sure I’m glad you called,” returned Mary. “Then we’ll have a little visit--yes?” He slipped off his overcoat. “Mr. Clifford, I know Mrs. Grayson would be glad to have you remain as our chaperone. Mr. Loveman”--with the faintest of ironic smiles--“I know I would not have a ghost of a chance with such a famous lady’s man in the company, so I am going to have the audacity to ask you to call again.” He had spoken with lightness, but there had been autocratic demand behind his words. Loveman disappeared into the room whence Clifford had seen him emerge, and returned with hat and coat. He tried to speak an offhand good-bye--though Clifford read that his soul was agitated with acute uneasiness--and started out. “I’ll be back in a moment,” Clifford said to the two, and followed the little lawyer. He caught him in the hallway and held him with a hand on either shoulder. “Loveman,” said he, looking down into the round face, “I certainly was up in the air for a time. But I’ve sized up the whole situation now.” “What situation?” “The situation between you, Miss Regan,--Mrs. Morton, I mean,--and Hilton. I thought that, of course, you, Bradley, and Hilton were in the game together.” “Well?” “I thought there was just one scheme on foot to blackmail Mrs. Morton. I’ve just tumbled to the fact that there were two schemes--and that there’s just been a head-on collision between the two.” “Bob, my boy, please elucidate.” “Further, Loveman, I understand your generosity in the matter of that five thousand. Bradley had demanded money, and you knew it. When Mary Regan sent for you yesterday, told you of the demand, and convinced you she could not possibly meet it, you had an inspiration. It wouldn’t do to withdraw the demand; better to give her the money yourself, and thereby increase her confidence and gratitude--that’d make her more inclined to fall in with you when you wanted to use her in some other big game. And your five thousand which you’d given her with your right hand, after she’d had it for just a few minutes, would come right back to your left hand. A great idea, Loveman!--great stuff!” “You’re smoking too much hop,” smiled Loveman--but it was a sickly smile. “But there’s many a slip ’twixt the right hand and the left. You never suspected that there was a second blackmailer on the job; Mrs. Morton probably thought that Bradley and Hilton were working together, and told you little more than that money was demanded. And Hilton has walked right off with your five thousand, and you’ll not get it back. And your client in there, Mr. Morton, is on to Jack and Mary Regan, and the part you’ve played, and there’s about to be an explosion, and the rest of your beans’ll be spilled. Good-night, Peter, old boy, and may you have pleasant dreams!” CHAPTER XIII MR. MORTON TAKES A HAND