The Pole was a keen student of the little paper, which he bought every week, and he had noted that very little of the information he had gleaned appeared in print. Obviously then Gossip’s Corner served Mr. Brown in some other way than as a vehicle for scandal, and the veil was partly lifted on this mysterious business on an afternoon when there had come a sharp tap at the outer door of the office. Poltavo pressed the button on the desk, which released the lock, and presently the tap was repeated on the inside door.
The door opened and a girl stood in the entrance hesitating.
“Won’t you come in?” said Poltavo, rising.
“Are you the editor of this paper?” asked the girl, as she slowly closed the door behind her.
Poltavo bowed. He was always ready to accept whatever honour chance bestowed upon him. Had she asked him if he were Mr. Brown, he would also have bowed.
“I had a letter from you,” said the girl, coming to the other side of the table and resting her hand on its edge and looking down at him a little scornfully, and a little fearfully, as Poltavo thought.
He bowed again. He had not written letters to anybody save to his employer, but his conscience was an elastic one.
“I write so many letters,” he said airily, “that I really forget whether I have written to you or not. May I see the letter?”
She opened her bag, took out an envelope, removed the letter and passed it across to the interested young man. It was written on the note-heading of Gossip’s Corner, but the address had been scratched out by a stroke of the pen. It ran:
“Dear Madam—
“Certain very important information has come into my possession regarding the relationships between yourself and Captain Brackly. I feel sure you cannot know that your name is being associated with that officer. As the daughter and heiress of the late Sir George Billk, you may imagine that your wealth and position in society relieves you of criticism, but I can assure you that the stories which have been sent to me would, were they placed in the hands of your husband, lead to the most unhappy consequences.
“In order to prevent this matter going any further, and in order to silence the voices of your detractors, our special inquiry department is willing to undertake the suppression of these scandalmongers. It will cost you £10,000, which should be paid to me in notes. If you agree, put an advertisement in the agony column of the Morning Mist, and I will arrange a meeting where the money can be paid over. On no account address me at my office or endeavour to interview me there.
Poltavo read the letter and now the function of Gossip’s Corner was very clear. He refolded the letter and handed it back to the girl.
“I may not be very clever,” said the visitor, “but I think I can understand what blackmail is when I see it.”
Poltavo was in a quandary, but only for a moment.
“I did not write that letter,” he said suavely; “it was written without my knowledge. When I said that I was the editor of this paper, I meant, of course, that I was the acting editor. Mr. Brown conducts his business quite independently of myself. I know all the circumstances,” he added hastily, since he was very anxious that the girl should not refuse him further information in the belief that he was an inconsiderable quantity, “and I sympathize with you most sincerely.”
A little smile curled the lips of the visitor.
Poltavo was ever a judge of men and women, and he knew that this was no yielding, timid creature to be terrified by the fear of exposure.
“The matter can be left in the hands of Captain Brackly and my husband to settle,” she said. “I am going to take the letter to my solicitors. I shall also show it to the two men most affected.”
Now the letter had been written four days earlier, as Poltavo had seen, and he argued that if it had not been revealed to these “two men most affected” in the first heat of the lady’s anger and indignation, it would never be shown at all.
“I think you are very wise,” he said suavely. “After all, what is a little unpleasantness of that character? Who cares about the publication of a few letters?”
“Has he got letters?” asked the girl quickly, with a change of tone.
Poltavo bowed again.
“Will they be returned?” she asked.
Poltavo nodded, and the girl bit her lips thoughtfully.
“I see,” she said.
She looked at the letter again and without another word went out.
Poltavo accompanied her to the outer door.
“It is the prettiest kind of blackmail,” she said at parting, and she spoke without heat. “I have only now to consider which will pay me best.”
The Pole closed the door behind her and walked back to his inner office, opened the door and stood aghast, for sitting in the chair which he had so recently vacated was the veiled man.
He was chuckling, partly at Poltavo’s surprise, partly at some amusing thought.
“Well done, Poltavo,” he said; “excellently fenced.”
“Did you hear?” asked the Pole, surprised in spite of himself.
“Every word,” said the other. “Well, what do you think of it?”
Poltavo pulled a chair from the wall and sat down facing his chief.
“I think it is very clever,” he said admiringly, “but I also think I am not getting sufficient salary.”
The veiled man nodded.
“I think you are right,” he agreed, “and I will see that it is increased. What a fool the woman was to come here!”
“Either a fool or a bad actress,” said Poltavo.
“What do you mean?” asked the other quickly.
Poltavo shrugged his shoulders.
“To
