"I daresay, because he thinks the bribe isn't enough. He believes as Peel did--or Walpole was it?--that every man has his price. He won't worry you, I tell you, if you give the merest hint to him of the matter. Not that you need to, for he will know about this blackmailing letter to-morrow." Vernon recalled how Maunders had said that his aunt had detained him, and how he had suggested that she had something on her mind. "He doesn't know it at present, anyhow." "No. Emily saw me before speaking to him. However, listen to the scheme I have in my mind to catch this Spider wretch. He is trying to blackmail me." "Oh!" Vernon sat up and laughed. "How ridiculous. You of all men cannot be blackmailed, since your life is so open." "No man's life is open," said Dimsdale drily; "and mine has its dark pages as everyone else's has. I have a secret; not a particularly bad one, it is true. Still, one that I should prefer to keep to myself." "What is it?" "I shan't tell you or any man," snapped the ex-police commissioner. "It is sufficient to say that it is not a very bad secret, and that even if it were told to the world it would matter little. However, The Spider--hang him, I think he must have some acquaintance with my life in the East--has learned something I thought no one but myself knew anything about. He asks one thousand pounds, which is moderate compared with his demand on Emily. Shows that he knows my secret isn't so very deadly, or it would be worth more." "Did he write to you?" asked Vernon alertly. "Of course he did, making the usual threat of exposure by postcards to self and friends. Now I am going to consent to his demands." "And pay the money?" "I didn't say that," corrected Dimsdale sharply, "but I am writing asking him to meet me in my library, and receive the money; also for him to hand over any documents to me which even hint at my secret. When he comes, you can be concealed in the room and we'll take him in charge." "But then your secret will become known," objected Vernon. "The Spider always provides against arrest by leaving the evidence in the hands of others to publish." "He can publish what he likes about me," said Mr. Dimsdale coolly; "don't I tell you that the secret is of little value. The Spider in his letter to me embroidered upon actual fact, and can make things unpleasant; but I can prove the exact truth of what he states, and so can save my bacon. There may be a few cold shoulders, but I shan't care for that, especially when my own conscience is clear. Now, don't ask me to tell you my secret, for I shan't. It has nothing to do with you or anyone else. All you have to do is to come to-morrow or the next day to my house at Hampstead, and I'll sketch out the plan of campaign." "What about Mrs. Bedge?"