"I tell you I must have it," he said. "No use to tell me that you haven't got the letters; for I have seen them in your possession. It's a letter sent from Lady Dashwood to her son and the date is 9th September, 1884. Now you make a note of that, please. If I don't have it, I shall find myself in serious trouble. What game am I playing? I'm playing for more money than you ever dreamed of." "Money!" the woman said bitterly, "that is always your cry. But it has not prevented you from taking all mine. And I owe three quarters' rent, which has to be paid tomorrow. If it isn't paid tomorrow, I shall be sold up and turned into the street." CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS No reason to tell Mary now that it was Mrs. Speed who was speaking. She recognised the tired, faded voice by this time. But the other voice was still more familiar. "That's bad," the man was saying, "why didn't you let me know that things had got to this pass? I daresay I could have helped you." "No, you would have promised to," Mrs. Speed cried, "and disappointed me at the last moment. All my savings have gone into your pocket; you have wheedled everything out of me till I haven't so much as a penny left. And now you come here for more of those letters! That you are up to no good I feel certain. I know by your dress and style that you have had the command of money. What are you doing there?" "Never you mind," the man said sulkily, "you'll know all in good time. I'm playing for a big stake, and for once in a way it has turned up trumps. Only; I want that particular letter. When I get the letter I can answer certain questions. Give me the letter, and I'll pledge my word that within a week you shall have all the money you require. Only you are to ask no questions, and you are not to move away from here, mind that!" "Oh, if I could get away from here!" Mrs. Speed sobbed. "Give me a chance of earning my living, and that is all I ask for. I'll ask the agent to give me another week, though I am afraid he won't do it. I've put him off too often." It was perhaps wrong of Mary to stand listening, but some fascination held her to the spot. She had a strong desire to see who the man with the familiar voice was. "Then you are going to let me have the letter?" he said. "I suppose so," came the weary response. "Never a thing yet that you made up your mind to have that you didn't coax out of me. But the letters are hidden in a box at the top of the house, and they will take some finding. Come again tomorrow at the same time, and I'll see what I can do for you. But if I consulted my own inclination I should go and see Lady Dashwood and tell her everything. I am sick of this intrigue and mystery." The man said something in a soothing kind of voice, and then followed a sound like a kiss. Then a match was struck, and the heavy, dense atmosphere became impregnated with the smell of fresh tobacco, after which the dining-room door opened and the man came into the hall.