"It's nothing to me what you think of me. You can go." "I am not going," Jack said quietly. "You and I have got to have this out." She had now worked herself up to a fine pitch of anger. She laughed, but there was little amusement in the sound. "I've got to have it out with you, have I? With _you_! Oh, this is rich! This is the perfection of impudence! Will you go, or must I call a servant to show you the door?" She sprang up as she spoke, and her hand approached the bell button. Gone was her listlessness now. "You will not do that," said Jack quietly. Her thumb rested on the button. "Why won't I?" she demanded. "Because you don't know yet how much I know." Her hand dropped irresolutely. "What is it to me what you think you know. Are you trying to blackmail me?" "I am not." "What's your game then?" "I'll tell you if you don't have me put out," said Jack, smiling dryly. She agitatedly paced the room. Jack went on: "I am doing you the credit of supposing that you do not know the true source of the money you spend." "You are accusing me of dishonesty perhaps," she said haughtily. "I don't know how honest you are," said Jack simply. "I am not acquainted with the terms of your agreement with Mr. B." She stopped as if she had been transfixed. She went white to the lips. "Mr. B.!" she whispered. "You know him!" "I know this much," said Jack slowly. "The thousand dollars a week which he sends you is the proceeds of blackmail--and murder!" She staggered. He thought she was swooning, and sprang to catch her. But she fended him off, and sank in a chair unaided. It was a full minute before she could speak. "You are just trying--to frighten me," she murmured huskily. "I shall prove it before I go." "What--what do you want of me?" "I expect when I prove to you the truth of what I say, that you will repudiate Mr. B. and his generous allowance, and help me to hang him." She did not answer at once, but only stared at him with big eyes. "You will not accept anything further from him, of course." Still she did not answer. "Will you knowingly help to levy blackmail, and to bring about additional murders?" She burst into tears. "How do I know what to do?" she wailed. "You haven't proved what you say! How do I know what your game is? I have nothing--not a sou! Where am I to go! How could I live?" Notwithstanding her pretended astonishment, indignation, dismay, Jack saw that she had always been secretly conscious of living over a volcano. She had no doubt resolutely averted her face from it, but had dwelt in daily expectation of this dreadful scene. "As to the means of existence, you need not worry," said Jack. "I shall take care of that." "You?" He saw that he had gone too far. "I mean Bobo of course. It is his game I am playing." "Who was murdered?" she asked abruptly. "Silas Gyde for one; Ames Benton for another." "Anarchists committed those crimes."