John made no answer. There was probably 10 pounds in the house and a cheque which was due on the morrow would bring him another 30 pounds. He looked at the letter again. It was written on paper of an unusual texture. The surface was rough almost like blotting paper and in some places the ink absorbed by the porous surface had run. The blank sheets had evidently been inserted by a man in so violent a hurry that he had not noticed the extravagance. “I shall keep this letter,” said John. “I think you are well advised. Vassalaro probably does not know that he transgresses a law in writing threatening letters and that should be a very strong weapon in your hand in certain eventualities.” There was a tiny safe in one corner of the study and this John opened with a key which he took from his pocket. He pulled open one of the steel drawers, took out the papers which were in it and put in their place the letter, pushed the drawer to, and locked it. All the time Kara was watching him intently as one who found more than an ordinary amount of interest in the novelty of the procedure. He took his leave soon afterwards. “I would like to come with you to your interesting meeting,” he said, “but unfortunately I have business elsewhere. Let me enjoin you to take your revolver and at the first sign of any bloodthirsty intention on the part of my admirable compatriot, produce it and click it once or twice, you won't have to do more.” Grace rose from the piano as Kara entered the little drawing-room and murmured a few conventional expressions of regret that the visitor's stay had been so short. That there was no sincerity in that regret Kara, for one, had no doubt. He was a man singularly free from illusions. They stayed talking a little while. “I will see if your chauffeur is asleep,” said John, and went out of the room. There was a little silence after he had gone. “I don't think you are very glad to see me,” said Kara. His frankness was a little embarrassing to the girl and she flushed slightly. “I am always glad to see you, Mr. Kara, or any other of my husband's friends,” she said steadily. He inclined his head. “To be a friend of your husband is something,” he said, and then as if remembering something, “I wanted to take a book away with me--I wonder if your husband would mind my getting it?” “I will find it for you.” “Don't let me bother you,” he protested, “I know my way.” Without waiting for her permission he left the girl with the unpleasant feeling that he was taking rather much for granted. He was gone less than a minute and returned with a book under his arm. “I have not asked Lexman's permission to take it,” he said, “but I am rather interested in the author. Oh, here you are,” he turned to John who came in at that moment. “Might I take this book on Mexico?” he asked. “I will return it in the morning.”