“You have them, then?” said Manfred.
She shook her head.
“When I said ‘them’ I meant one, and I only have a copy of that, supplied me by Mr. Stedland. The one letter that was not destroyed fell into the hands of the boy’s mother, who took it to the headmistress, and there was an awful row. She threatened to write to my parents who were in India, but on my solemn promise that the acquaintance should be dropped, the affair was allowed to blow over. How the letter came into Stedland’s hands I do not know; in fact, I had never heard of the man until a week before my marriage with Jeff. Jeff had saved about two thousand pounds, and we were looking forward to our marriage day when this blow fell. A letter from a perfectly unknown man, asking me to see him at his office, gave me my first introduction to this villain. I had to take the letter with me, and I went in some curiosity, wondering why I had been sent for. I was not to wonder very long. He had a little office off Regent Street, and after he had very carefully taken away the letter he had sent me, he explained, fully and frankly, just what his summons had meant.”
Manfred nodded.
“He wanted to sell you the letter,” he said, “for how much?”
“For two thousand pounds. That was the diabolical wickedness of it,” said the girl vehemently. “He knew almost to a penny how much Jeff had saved.”
“Did he show you the letter?”
She shook her head.
“No, he showed me a photographic reproduction and as I read it and recalled what construction might be put upon this perfectly innocent note, my blood went cold. There was nothing to do but to tell Jeff, because the man had threatened to send facsimiles to all our friends and to Jeffrey’s uncle, who had made Jeffrey his sole heir. I had already told Jeffrey about what happened at school, thank heaven, and so I had no need to fear his suspicion. Jeffrey called on Mr. Stedland, and I believe there was a stormy scene; but Stedland is a big, powerful man in spite of his age, and in the struggle which ensued poor Jeffrey got a little the worst of it. The upshot of the matter was, Jeffrey agreed to buy the letter for two thousand pounds, on condition that Stedland signed a receipt, written on a blank page of the letter itself. It meant the losing of his life savings; it meant the possible postponement of our wedding; but Jeffrey would not take any other course. Mr. Stedland lives in a big house near Clapham Common—”
“184 Park View West,” interrupted Manfred.
“You know?” she said in surprise. “Well, it was at this house Jeffrey had to call to complete the bargain. Mr. Stedland lives alone except for a manservant, and opening the door himself, he conducted Jeffrey up to the first floor, where he had his study. My husband, realising the futility of argument, paid over the money, as he had been directed by Stedland, in American bills—”
“Which are more difficult to trace, of course,” said Manfred.
“When he had paid him, Stedland produced the letter, wrote the receipt on the blank page, blotted it and placed it in an envelope, which he gave to my husband. When Jeffrey returned home and opened the envelope, he found it contained nothing more than a blank sheet of paper.”
“He had rung the changes,” said Manfred.
“That was the expression that Jeffrey used,” said the girl. “Then it was that Jeffrey decided to commit this mad act. You have heard of the Four Just Men?”
“I have heard of them,” replied Manfred gravely.
“My husband is a great believer in their methods, and a great admirer of them too,” she said. “I think he read everything that has ever been written about them. One night, two days after we were married—I had insisted upon marrying him at once when I discovered the situation—he came to me.
“ ‘Grace,’ he said, ‘I am going to apply the methods of the Four to this devil Stedland.’
“He outlined his plans. He had apparently been watching the house, and knew that except for the servant the man slept in the house alone, and he had formed a plan for getting in. Poor dear, he was an indifferent burglar; but you heard today how he succeeded in reaching Stedland’s room. I think he hoped to frighten the man with his revolver.”
Manfred shook his head.
“Stedland graduated as a gun-fighter in South Africa,” he said quietly. “He is the quickest man on the draw I know, and a deadly shot. Of course, he had your husband covered before he could as much as reach his pocket.”
She nodded.
“That is the story,” she said quietly. “If you can help Jeff, I shall pray for you all my life.”
Manfred rose slowly.
“It was a mad attempt,” he said. “In the first place Stedland would not keep a compromising document like that in his house, which he leaves for six hours a day. It might even have been destroyed, though that is unlikely. He would keep the letter for future use. Blackmailers are keen students of humanity, and he knows that money may still be made, from that letter of yours. But if it is in existence—”
“If it is in existence,” she repeated—and now the reaction had come and her lips were trembling—
“I will place it in
