“Yah!” snarled Seth. “Look ’ee ’ere!” and he took from his pocket an envelope torn in two. “Look ’ee ’ere; do yer know that?” and he flourished it in Bartley Bradstone’s face. Dark as it was, Bartley Bradstone saw the piece of paper and knew that it was the confession which he had dropped in the Grange avenue. With a cry he sprang forward, but desperation even could not lend him the activity which is the gypsy’s birthright. With an answering cry of triumph, Seth whipped the letter behind him and caught Bartley Bradstone by the throat. For a moment or two the men struggled in that deadly silence. Despair and excitement lent Bartley Bradstone fictitious strength, and as he locked his arms round the gypsy’s lithe form, he exerted every muscle and succeeded in getting him down upon his knee; but as he did so, Seth slipped, as if he had fallen, and, turning like a greyhound, again caught Bartley Bradstone by the throat and laid him full length upon the ground. Panting as much with rage as want of breath, the gypsy glowered down upon him. “You’re a pretty customer to deal with,” he said. “Get up! Put your hand on me again and I’ll--I’ll kill you. Now, what do you mean to do? You ain’t got to deal with a helpless woman, Mr. Bradstone, but with a man. Will yer give me the thousand pounds now, or shall I take this letter to the police?” Bartley Bradstone got up and leaned against a tree. “I’ll give it you,” he said. “Walk in front, then,” said Seth, motioning to him suddenly. Breathing hard, he obeyed. Thus they went slowly to The Maples. Bartley Bradstone unlocked the door and went into the library. Seth looked round. “Give me something to drink,” he said, hoarsely. Bartley Bradstone, without a word, as if he were completely cowed, went to the sideboard and got out the brandy. Seth instantly took the decanter from his hand and helped himself. “Now,” he said, “look sharp--the money--the money!” Bartley Bradstone drew a checkbook from a drawer. Seth watched him suspiciously. “What’s that?” he said. “A check.” “What’s the good of that to me?” said Seth. “I want money--gold, notes.” Bartley Bradstone forced a smile. “Do you think I keep a thousand pounds in the house in gold or notes?” he said. “You’re not so ignorant as you pretend; you have only to take this check to the bank to get it turned into money--gold or notes.” Seth looked at him with half-closed eyes. “And suppose you stop it?” he said. Bartley Bradstone smiled again. “Is that likely?” he said. “Do you think that I am likely to run any more risk? Give me the letter. Take the check and leave me in peace.” Seth took the torn note from his pocket and looked from it to Bartley Bradstone’s white face, doubtfully and suspiciously. “What hold have I got on yer,” he said, “if I give yer this note and find the check ain’t honored?” Bartley Bradstone raised his eyebrows.