some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter.
His second was much more of a startler, and I only got it last week."

The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild
and patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of laughter as
she resumed, "I suppose you've seen on the hoardings all about this
'Smythe's Silent Service'? Or you must be the only person that hasn't.
Oh, I don't know much about it, it's some clockwork invention for doing
all the housework by machinery. You know the sort of thing: 'Press a
Button--A Butler who Never Drinks.' 'Turn a Handle--Ten Housemaids who
Never Flirt.' You must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever
these machines are, they are making pots of money; and they are making
it all for that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can't help
feeling pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the
plain fact is, I'm in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me
he's carved his way in the world--as he certainly has."

"And the other man?" repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate quietude.

Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. "My friend," she said, "I think
you are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the
other man's writing; and I have no more notion than the dead of what or
where he is. But it is of him that I am frightened. It is he who is all
about my path. It is he who has half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he
has driven me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been, and
I have heard his voice when he could not have spoken."

"Well, my dear," said the young man, cheerfully, "if he were Satan
himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all
alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our
squinting friend?"

"I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak," said the
girl, steadily. "There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the
shop at the corner, and could see down both streets at once. I had
forgotten how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I
had not thought of him for nearly a year. But it's a solemn truth that a
few seconds later the first letter came from his rival."

"Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?" asked
Angus, with some interest.

Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken voice, "Yes.
Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe
annou