"Dear Mrs. Tower," it ran, "the Costa Rica cotton concession is almost secure. The President will sign it any day now. But secrecy is more than ever important. Tell none but Jacob. The market must be kept in the dark. He can begin operations quietly. The shares should be at par within a week, and at five in a month. Wire me the one word 'settled' when Jacob says he is ready." "At five in a month!" Mrs. Tower was promised ten thousand of those shares. Their nominal value was one dollar. To-day they stood at a few cents. Fifty thousand dollars! What a relief it would be! Threatening dressmakers, impudent racing agents asking for unpaid bets, sneering friends who held her I. O. U.'s for bridge losses, and spoke of asking her husband to settle; all these paid triumphantly, and plenty in hand to battle in the whirlpool for years--it was a stake worth fighting for. And Meiklejohn? As the price of his help in gaining a concession granted by a new competitor among the cotton-producing States, he would be given five shares to her one. Why did he dread this girl? That was a fruitful affair to probe. But he must be warned. Her lost lover might be troublesome at a critical stage in the affairs of the cotton market. She wrote a telegram: "Settled, but await letter." In the letter she gave him some details--not all--of Carshaw's visit. No woman will ever reveal that she has been discarded by a man whom she boasted was tied to her hat-strings. Carshaw sought the detective bureau, but Steingall was away now, as well as Clancy. "You'll be hearing from one of them" was the enigmatic message he was given. Eating his heart out in misery, he arranged his affairs, received those two daily telegrams from Miss Goodman with their dreadful words, "No news," and haunted the bookbinder's, and Meiklejohn's door hoping to see some of the crew of Winifred's persecutors. At the bookbinder's he learned of the visit of the supposed clergyman, whose name, however, did not appear in the lists of any denomination. At last arrived a telegram from Burlington, Vermont. "Come and see me. Clancy." Grown wary by experience, Carshaw ascertained first that Clancy was really at Burlington. Then he instructed Miss Goodman to telegraph to him in the north, and quitted New York by the night train. In the sporting columns of an evening paper he read of the sale of his polo ponies. The scribe regretted the suggested disappearance from the game of "one of the best Number Ones" he had ever seen. The Long Island estate was let already, and Mrs. Carshaw would leave her expensive flat when the lease expired. Early next day he was greeted by Clancy.