The man gave a start, and his humility vanished. His eyes revealed unsuspected depths of shiftiness as he looked furtively from Jack to Priscilla and back again to Jack. “What do you know about it? Has Lyman been writing to you?” “Never mind who has been writing to me: the fact remains the same, and I think we have you in a tight place there, Mr. Blaydon,” said Jack, smiling at the result of his drawing a bow at a venture. “Look here,” cried the visitor. “I know just how I stand. I know what my rights are--restitution of conjugal rights. I’ve been to the right quarter to learn all that, and what’s more, I won’t stand any further nonsense. What right have you to cross-question me--you? It is you who have ruined the girl, not me.” “Mr. Blaydon,” said Jack quietly, “you are a man of the world, and so am I. You have said enough to show me that you are no fool. Now, speaking as man to man, and without wishing to dispute the legality of your claim or to throw away good money among bad lawyers, how much will you take in hard cash to clear off from here and let things be as they are?” “Not millions--not millions!” cried the man indignantly. “I’m no blackmailer--don’t let that thought come to you. I don’t ask for money. Good Heavens, sir! what have I done that you should fancy my motives were of that character? No; all I ask is for my wife to come with me.” “And supposing she went with you to-day, what could you do for her?” said Jack. “Have you a home to which you could take her? What are your prospects?” “My prospects may be none of the brightest, Mr. Wingfield; I wasn’t born so lucky as you; but I’m her husband, and it’s my duty to think of her first. If she’s the woman I believe her to be, she will acknowledge that her duty is to be with me.” He looked toward Priscilla, but she remained silent; she made no attempt to acknowledge his complimentary words. Then Jack went to the mantelpiece, and drew a postcard from behind a bronze ornament--a postcard addressed to himself. “Take that card in your hand and tell me if you recognize the handwriting,” he said, handing the card to the man who took it and scrutinized the writing closely. “I never saw that writing in all my life,” he said, and Jack took the card from him smiling. The man looked at his fingers; the card had evidently been leaning against a gum-pot and got a touch of the brush on its border. He wiped his fingers in his pocket-handkerchief, while Jack replaced the postcard where it had been standing. “If you tell me you have never seen that writing before, I am satisfied,” said he. “But I have a letter or two the writing on which I fancy you would have no difficulty in recognizing. I will not produce them just yet. Now, without wasting more time, Mr. Blaydon, I wish to know from you in one word, now or never, if I offer you the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds----” Priscilla started up.