Schofield's harsh voice sounded suddenly--but again to Maschka, not to me. "Ye might remind Mr. Harrison that others have capabilities in business besides himself. Beyond a doubt our sales will be comparatively small, but they'll be to such as have not made the great refusal." Think of it!... I almost laughed. "Oh!... Been trying it?" I inquired. He made no reply. "Well, those who have made the refusal have at least had something to refuse," I said mildly. Then, realising that this was mere quarrelling, I returned to the point. "Anyhow, there's no question of refusing to write the 'Life.' I admit that during the last fortnight I've met with certain difficulties; but the task isn't so easy as perhaps it looks.... I'm making progress." "I suppose," she said hesitatingly, after a pause, "that you don't care to show it as far as it is written?" For a moment I also hesitated. I thought I saw where she was. Thanks to that Lancashire jackanapes, there was division between us; and I had pretty well made up my mind, not only that he thought himself quite capable of writing Andriaovsky's "Life," himself, but that he had actually made an attempt in that direction. They had come in the suspicion that I was throwing them over, and, though that suspicion was removed, Maschka wished, if there was any throwing over to be done, to do it herself. In a word, she wanted to compare me with Schofield. "To see it as far as it is written," I repeated slowly.... "Well, you may. That is, you, Michael's sister, may. But on the condition that you neither show it to anybody else nor speak of it to anybody else." "Ah!" she said.... "And only on those conditions?" "Only on those conditions." I saw a quick glance between them. "Shall we tell him?" it seemed to say.... "Including the man Michael's sister is going to marry?" she said abruptly. My attitude was deeply apologetic, but, "Including anybody whomsoever," I answered. "Then," she said, rising, "we won't bother. But will you at least let us know, soon, when we may expect your text?" "I will let you know," I replied slowly, "one week from to-day." On that assurance they left; and when they had gone I crossed once more to the lower shelf that contained my letter-files. I turned up the file for 1900 once more. During their visit I had had an idea. I ran through the letters, and then replaced them.... Yes, I ought to be able to let them know within the week. V Against the day when I myself shall come to die, there are in the pigeon-holes of the newspaper libraries certain biographical records that deal roughly with the outward facts of my life; and these, supplemented by documents I shall place in the hands of my executors, will tell the story of how I leaped at a bound into wealth and fame with the publication of _The Cases of Martin Renard_. I will set down as much of that story as has its bearing on my present tale.