"Nor do I want to go back to the gutter," he declared fiercely. "But money isn't to be had for the picking up. Ten thousand pounds Morris expected to get for that packet. It's hard if we can't make half of that." She looked up at Wrayson as though for advice. "Mrs. Barnes," he said gravely, "I can tell you what is in that packet. You can see for yourself, then, whether it is anything by means of which you can make money. It consists of the letters of a very famous woman to the man whom she loved. They were stolen from him on the battlefield. I do not wish to pain you, but the thief was Morris Barnes. The friends of the lady who wrote them paid your brother two thousand pounds a year. Her enemies offered him--ten thousand pounds down. There is the secret of Morris Barnes' wealth." Sydney Barnes leaned over the back of her chair. His hot whisper seemed to burn her cheek. "Keep the packet, sister-in-law. Don't part!" "Your brother-in-law," Wrayson remarked, "is evidently disposed to continue your husband's operations. Remember you are not at liberty to do as he asks. Your husband's words are plain. He orders you to burn the packet." "How do I know that you are telling me the truth?" she asked abruptly. "Undo the packet," he suggested. "A glance inside should show you." For some reason or other she seemed dissatisfied. She pointed towards the Baroness. "What is she doing here?" she asked. "She is a friend of the woman who wrote those letters," Wrayson answered. "I want her to see them destroyed." There was silence for several moments. The girl's fingers closed upon the packet. She turned round and faced them all. She faced them all, but she addressed more particularly Wrayson. "You are wondering why I hesitate," she said slowly. "Augustus said destroy the packet, and I suppose I ought to do it." "By God, you shan't!" Sydney Barnes broke in fiercely. "Morry didn't know that I should be here to look after things." She waited until he had finished, but she seemed to take very little, if any, notice of his intervention. "It isn't," she continued, "that I'm afraid to go back to the bar. I'll have to go to work some where, I suppose, but it isn't that. I want to know," she leaned a little forward,--"I want to know who it is that has robbed me of my husband. I don't care what he was to other people! He was very good to me, and I loved him. I should like to see the person who killed him hanged!" Wrayson, for a moment, was discomposed. "But that," he said, "has nothing to do with obeying your husband's directions about that packet." She looked at him with tired eyes and changeless expression. "Hasn't it?" she asked. "I am not so sure. You have explained about these letters. It is quite certain that my husband was killed by either the friends or the enemies of the woman who wrote these letters. I think that if I take this packet to the police it will help them to find the murderer!"