"Excuse me, Miss Betty," he said, with a tug at the visor of his cap. "I thought ye heard me coming." Betty's feeling of relief found vent in a slight laugh. "Dear me, Corbin; I wish I had recognized you sooner. Why, I was actually running away from you." Corbin's parchment-like face opened in an expansive grin which showed his yellow teeth. "Running away, was you, Miss Betty?" His voice dropped to a confidential pitch. "Take it from me, don't ye do it." Betty ceased laughing with startling abruptness and stared at him. "What are you talking about, Corbin?" she demanded. His right eye opened and closed in a most expressive wink. "I want to speak to ye, Miss Betty, confidential like." "Well?" she drew back and looked at him in dawning comprehension. "Are you drunk?" "No; I never touch liquor." He slipped his hand inside his tightly buttoned coat and drew out a woman's silk scarf and held it just beyond her reach. "Where did you get that?" she cried. "Where ye dropped it the morning of Mr. Paul's murder." As he spoke he shook out the scarf. "The blood's still on it," and he leered at her as she raised her eyes and looked at him. It was some seconds before she spoke, and her voice was not quite natural. "Well, what's your price?" she asked. Corbin licked his lips. "How much ye got with ye?" he demanded. From an inside pocket she drew out a bill folder containing "A.B.A." travelers' checks. Only one was left, but tucked behind it were two yellow-back Treasury notes. "I can give you a check for fifty dollars or these two twenty-dollar bills," she explained. "I'll take the money--on account." The look she gave him was expressive of her feelings, but wasted on Corbin. "Very well," she said. "Hand me the scarf." "Oh, no." He held it behind him. "Not till I get five hundred dollars." "Five hundred dollars!" "Sure--that's what Sheriff Trenholm will give for it and, eh, other information." Betty threw back her head and eyed him defiantly. "If you go to the sheriff he will give you what every blackmailer deserves--nothing." And she replaced the bills in the check folder. Corbin eyed the vanishing money in alarm. "Don't be in a hurry!" he exclaimed. "I am a poor man. I'll take the money--and your word for the rest." His fingers closed greedily over the Treasury notes as he relinquished the scarf. With a mumbled word, of which Betty was oblivious, he hastened back the way he had come. Betty stood where she was in indecision. Finally she turned and watched Corbin reënter the woods. Convinced that he was not likely to return she continued on her way toward Upper Marlboro, the scarf safely tucked inside the pocket of her fur coat. She had gone some little distance when she came to an open field and saw, close to the road, in a slight hollow, a huge boulder from which the snow had melted, leaving exposed the dry rock.