“Yes,” he replied, with dangerous politeness. “There would still be time to do so if necessary--at the sacrifice of some hundredweight of paper.” “How marvellously organised your interesting paper must be!” Dead silence. Most men would have felt embarrassed, but no sign of such feeling was forthcoming from any of the three. It is possible that the dark gentleman with the sky-blue eyes wished to establish a sense of embarrassment with a view to the furtherance of his own ends. If so, his attempt proved lamentably abortive. Mr. Bodery sat with his plump hands resting on the table, and looked contemplatively up into the stranger's face. Mr. Morgan was scribbling pencil notes on a tablet. “The truth is,” explained the stranger at length, “that a friend of mine, who is unfortunately ill in bed this morning--” (Mr. Bodery did not look in the least sympathetic, though he listened attentively.) “... has received a telegram from a gentleman who I am told is on the staff of your journal--Mr. Vellacott. This gentleman wishes to withdraw, for correction, an article he has sent to you. He states that he will re-write the article, with certain alterations, in time for next week's issue.” Mr. Bodery's face was pleasantly illegible. “May I see the telegram?” he asked politely. “Certainly!” The stranger produced and handed to the editor a pink paper covered with faint black writing. “You will see at the foot this--Mr. Vellacott's reason for not wiring to you direct. He wished my friend to be here before the printers got to work this morning; but owing to this unfortunate illness--” “I am afraid you are too late, sir,” interrupted Mr. Bodery briskly. “The press is at work--” “My friend instructed me,” interposed the stranger in his turn, “to make you rather a difficult proposition. If a thousand pounds will compensate for the loss incurred by the delay of issue, and defray the expense of paper spoilt--I--I have that amount with me.” Mr. Bodery did not display the least sign of surprise, merely shaking his head with a quiet smile. Mr. Morgan, however, laid aside his pencil, and placed his elbow upon the proof-sheets before him. The stranger then stepped forward with a sudden change of manner. “Mr. Bodery,” he said, in a low, concentrated voice, “I will give you five hundred pounds for a proof copy of Mr. Vellacott's article.” A dead silence of some moments' duration followed this remark. Mr. Morgan raised his head and looked across the table at his chief. The editor made an almost imperceptible motion with his eyebrows in the direction of the door. Then Mr. Morgan rose somewhat heavily from his chair, with a hand upon either arm, after the manner of a man who is beginning to put on weight rapidly. He went to the door, opened it, and, turning towards the stranger, said urbanely: “Sir--the door!” This kind invitation was not at once accepted. “You refuse my offers?” said the stranger curtly, without deigning to notice the sub-editor.