Cheyne was not only mystified, but a trifle uneasy. He saw now that he had been maneuvered into a practical admission that he had committed burglary, and there was something in the way the detective had made his last remark that seemed vaguely sinister. “Well, what business of yours is it?” he said brusquely. “What do you hope to get out of it?” Speedwell nodded as he looked at the other out of his close-set furtive eyes. “Now, sir,” he answered approvingly, “that’s what I like. That’s coming to business, that is. I thought perhaps I could be of service to you, that’s all. Here are these parties looking for you to make a prosecution for burglary, and here you are looking for them for a paper they have. And here am I,” his face was inexpressibly sly, “in a position to help either party, as you might say. There’s an old saying, sir, that knowledge is power, and many a time I’ve thought it’s a true one.” “And you want to sell your knowledge?” “Isn’t it reasonable, _and_ natural? It’s my business to get knowledge, and I have to work hard to get it too. You wouldn’t have me give away the fruits of my work? It’s all I have to live by.” “Your knowledge belongs to your firm.” “No, sir, not in this case it doesn’t. All this work was done in my own time; it was my hobby, so to speak. Besides, my firm didn’t ask for the information and doesn’t want it.” “What do you want for it?” A momentary gleam appeared in Mr. Speedwell’s eyes, but he replied quietly and without emotion: “Two hundred pounds. Two hundred pounds and you shall hear all I know, and have my best help in whatever you want to do into the bargain. And in that case I won’t be able to tell the other parties where you are to be found, so being as their question was addressed to me and not to my firm.” “Two hundred pounds!” Cheyne cried. “I’ll see you far enough first. Confound your impertinence!” His anger rose and he almost choked. “Don’t you imagine you are going to blackmail me! But I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I’m going right in now to the head of your firm to let him know the way you conduct his business. Two hundred pounds. I don’t think!” He flung himself out of the room and called the girl in the outer office. “I want to see the principal of the firm,” he shouted. “It’s important. Either Mr. Horton or Mr. Lavender will do. As soon as possible, please.” The girl seemed half startled and half amused. “_Who_ did you want to see?” she asked. “Mr. Horton or Mr. Lavender,” Cheyne repeated firmly, fixing her with a wrathful stare. “I—I’m afraid I don’t know where they are,” she stammered, the corners of her mouth twitching. Yes, she _was_ laughing at him. Confound her impertinence also! “You don’t know?” he shouted furiously. “When will they be in?” The girl looked scared, then her amusement evidently overcame her apprehension and she giggled. “Not today, I’m afraid,” she answered. “You see Mr. Horton has been dead over ten years and Mr. Lavender at least five.”