Before he could telephone Anita--or Kedzie, as he mentally corrected himself--he was informed that a Mr. Connery was at the door, asking for him. He nodded and went into the library, carrying the newspaper with him. Connery grinned sadly and mumbled: “I see you've seen it. I thought you'd like to know about it.” “I should,” said Dyckman. “Sit down.” Connery sat down and told of the accident and what led up to it. He spoke in a lowered voice and kept his eye on the door. When he had finished his story he said, “Now, of course this all comes out very convenient for you, but I suppose you see how easy it would be for me to tell what I know, and that mightn't be so convenient for you.” “Are you beginning your blackmail again so early in the morning?” “Cut out that kind of talk or there's nothing doing,” said Connery. “I can make a lot of trouble for you, and I can hush up a lot. Unless I speak I don't suppose anybody else is going to peep about Miss Adair being Mrs. Gilfoyle, and about Mr. Dyckman being interested in his wife. If I do speak it would take a lot of explaining.” “I am not afraid of explaining to the whole world that Miss Adair is a friend of mine and that her father and mother were present when I called.” Connery met this with a smile. “But how often were they present when you called?” Dyckman grew belligerent again: “Do you want me to finish what I began on you last night?” “I'm in no hurry, thank you. You can outclass me in the ring, but it wouldn't help you much to beat me up, would it?--or Miss Adair, either. She's got some rights, hasn't she?” “Has she any that you are capable of respecting?” “Sure she has. I don't want to cause the little lady any inconvenience. She and Tommie Gilfoyle didn't belong together, anyway. She was through with him long ago, and the only thing that saved his face was the fact that he's dead--poor fellow! “But you see I've got to appear as a witness in the trial of the taxicab-driver, who'll be held for manslaughter or something. If I say that Gilfoyle and I had just come from a battle with you and that he got the wits knocked out of him because he accused you of making a mistress out of his wife--” “Be careful!” “The same to you, Mr. Dyckman.” Dyckman felt himself nettled. Kedzie's silence about the existence of a husband had enmeshed him. He would not attempt to justify himself. It would do no good to thresh about. The big gladiator sat still waiting for the _retiarius_ to finish him. But Connery's voice grew merciful. It was a luxury beyond price to extend an alms to this plutocrat.