“If that were the case, Mr. Keymer, why should your son have been so terribly anxious to get back certain letters addressed by him to Miss Blair, that he resorted to the extreme step of breaking open her workbox, an act which, had the lady been of a vindictive disposition, might have landed him in a very serious predicament indeed?” The brewer shrugged his shoulders. “That is a question for my son to answer. And let me tell you, sir, that I am not in the habit of discussing his, or anybody’s affairs with strangers; which reminds me that I am still in the dark as to the nature of the business which brought you here.” “Very few words will serve to enlighten you. When your son robbed Miss Blair of her letters he was doubtless under the impression that he had regained possession of all that he had ever written to her. Such, however, was not the case. Miss Blair still retains two letters, both of them couched in language with which it would be impossible to find fault on the score of its ambiguity; in point of fact, they breathe a most fervent devotion, and abound with terms of endearment such as none but accepted lovers are privileged to make use of. Now, sir, there can be little doubt that if Miss Blair chose to enter an action for breach of promise against your son, the letters in question would of themselves go far towards securing her a verdict with heavy damages. But, while determined that the wrong which has been inflicted on her shall not go unpunished, she has no wish to proceed to extremities, unless driven thereto. What, therefore, she has empowered me to do, is to offer to give up the two letters in return for a cheque, signed by you, for three hundred guineas.” “What!” shrieked the brewer, as he sprang to his feet, a patch of purple mantling in either cheek. “Three hundred guineas for a couple of worthless scrawls! What do you take me for? Get out of my office this instant and never let me set eyes on your ugly face again.” Ambrose Lydd did not offer to stir. “I beg to remark, Mr. Keymer, that I am usually considered to be rather good-looking,” he said with a quaint smile; “but in moments of excitement I am aware that we are liable to say things which we afterwards see reason to regret. But to come back to business. The letters in question, sir, if read in open court, as they undoubtedly will be if my client’s very reasonable offer is met by a refusal, will prove to be anything rather than worthless scrawls. I have brought copies of them with me for your perusal. Here they are, sir; read them through carefully, after which, I venture to assert that your opinion as to their worthlessness will be considerably modified.” Speaking thus, the solicitor’s clerk produced the copies he had brought with him, and rising, laid them on the brewer’s blotting-pad.