"I don't suppose it matters much what it's called," said Barthorpe drily. "I should say, from the tone of your letter, that most people would call it----" "Yes, but not polite people," interrupted Burchill, "and you and I are--or must be--polite. So we'll say donation. The fact is, I want to start a newspaper--weekly--devoted to the arts. I thought your uncle--now, unfortunately, deceased--would finance it. I didn't want much, you know." "How much?" asked Barthorpe. "The amount isn't stated in this letter." "It was stated in the two previous letters," replied Burchill. "Oh, not much. Ten thousand." "The price of your silence, eh?" suggested Barthorpe. "Dirt cheap!" answered Burchill. Barthorpe folded up the letter once more and put it away. He helped himself to another cigarette and lighted it before he spoke again. Then he leaned forward confidentially. "What is the secret?" he asked. Burchill stated and assumed an air of virtuous surprise. "My dear fellow!" he said. "That's against all the rules--all the rules of----" "Of shady society," sneered Barthorpe. "Confound it, man, what do you beat about the bush so much for? Hang it, I've a pretty good notion of you, and I daresay you've your own of me. Why can't you tell me?" "You forget that I offered not to tell for--ten thousand pounds," said Burchill. "Therefore I should want quite as much for telling. If you carry ten thousand in cash on you----" "Is there a secret?" asked Barthorpe. "Sober earnest, now?" "I have no objection to answering that question," replied Burchill. "There is!" "And you want ten thousand pounds for it?" suggested Barthorpe. "Pardon me--I want a good deal more for it, under the present much altered circumstances," said Burchill quietly. "There is an old saying that circumstances alter cases. It's true--they do. I would have taken ten thousand pounds from your uncle to hold my tongue--true. But--the case is altered by his death." Barthorpe pondered over this definite declaration for a minute or two. Then, lowering his voice, he said: "Looks uncommonly like--blackmail! And that----" "Pardon me again," interrupted Burchill. "No blackmail at all--in my view. I happen to possess information of a certain nature, and----" Barthorpe interrupted in his turn. "The thing is," he said, "the only thing is--how long are you and I going to beat about the bush? Are you going to tell me if you signed that will I told you of?" "Certainly not before I've seen it," answered Burchill promptly. "Will you tell me then?" "That entirely depends." "On--what?" "Circumstances!" "Have the circumstances got anything to do with this secret?" "Everything! More than anything--now." "Now--what?"