se, as you've got it, you've read it."

Barthorpe sat down again and stared.

"You're a cool customer, Master Burchill!" he said. "By Jove, you are!
You're playing some game. What is it?"

Burchill smiled deprecatingly.

"What's your own?" he asked. "Or, if that's too pointed a question at
present, suppose we go back to--my letter? Want to ask me anything about
it?"

Barthorpe again drew the letter from the case. He affected to re-read
it, while Burchill narrowly watched him.

"What," asked Barthorpe at last, "what was it that you wanted my uncle
to oblige you with? A loan?"

"If it's necessary to call it anything," replied Burchill suavely, "you
can call it a--well, say a donation. That sounds better--it's more
dignified."

"I don't suppose it matters much what it's called," said Barthorpe
drily. "I should say, from the tone of your letter, that most people
would call it----"

"Yes, but not polite people," interrupted Burchill, "and you and I
are--or must be--polite. So we'll say donation. The fact is, I want to
start a newspaper--weekly--devoted to the arts. I thought your
uncle--now, unfortunately, deceased--would finance it. I didn't want
much, you know."

"How much?" asked Barthorpe. "The amount isn't stated in this letter."

"It was stated in the two previous letters," replied Burchill. "Oh, not
much. Ten thousand."

"The price of your silence, eh?" suggested Barthorpe.

"Dirt cheap!" answered Burchill.

Barthorpe folded up the letter once more and put it away. He helped
himself to another cigarette and lighted it before he spoke again. Then
he leaned forward confidentially.

"What is the secret?" he asked.

Burchill stated and assumed an air of virtuous surprise.

"My dear fellow!" he said. "That's against all the rules--all the rules
of----"

"Of shady society," sneered Barthorpe. "Confound it, man, what do you
beat about the bush so much for? Hang it, I've a pretty good notion of
you, and I daresay you've your own of me. Why can't you tell me?"

"You forget that I offered not to tell for--ten thousand pounds," said
Burchill. "Therefore I should want quite as much for telling. If you
carry ten thousand in cash on you----"

"Is there a secret?" asked Barthorpe. "Sober earnest, now?"

"I have no objection to answering that question," replied Burchill.
"There is!"

"And you want ten thousand pounds for it?" suggested Barthorpe.

"Pardon me--I want a good deal more for it, under the pr