' I responded, 'but I assure you, Mrs.
Bater, I am letting you off cheap. I have only to call for a policeman
and your reputation would be gone at once. Besides, I know other
things about you.'

"'What other things?' she stuttered.

"'Well, madam!' I replied, 'some things are rather delicate--er--for
single men like me to mention, but I do know that--er--a lady--very
like--remarkably like--you, has in her pocket at this moment a rattle
which she bought and paid for in Oakland's late last night. And as,
madam, Mr. Bater has been dead over two years--let me see--yes, two
years yesterday--one can--!'

"'Stay! that will do,' she whispered; 'come to my house and I will
give you the thousand dollars. You must pretend you are my cousin.'

"'I will pretend anything, Mrs. Bater,' I murmured, helping her into a
taxi, 'anything so long as I can be with you.'"

"You got the money?" Hamar queried.

"Yes," Kelson said with a smile, "I got the money--in fact, everything
I asked for."

There was silence for some minutes, and then Hamar said, "What next?"

"What next!" Kelson said, "why I thought I had done a very good day's
work and was on my way back here to take a much needed rest, when I'm
dashed if the Unknown hadn't another adventure in store for me. Coming
out of a garden in Gough Street, within sight of Goad's house, was a
lady, young and very plain, but rigged out in one of those latest
fashion costumes--a very tight, short skirt, and huge hat with high
plume in it. By the bye, I can't think why this costume, which is so
admirably suited to pretty girls--because it attracts attention to
them--should be almost exclusively adopted by the ugly ones. But to
continue. I knew immediately that she was Ella Barlow, the
much-pampered and only daughter of J.B. Barlow, the vinegar magnate;
that she was in love, or imagined herself in love with Herbert Delmas,
the manager of the Columbian Bank--a young, good-looking fellow, whom
she had been trying to set against his fiancee, Dora Roberts. Dora is
only nineteen, very pretty and a trifle giddy--nothing more. But this
failing of hers--if you can call it a failing, was just the very
weapon Ella Barlow wanted. She worked on it at once, and by sending
Delmas a series of anonymous letters made him mad with jealousy. This
resulted in a breach between Delmas and Dora, and Ella Barlow, much
elated, at once tried to step into her shoes. She has been going out a
good deal with Delmas, who i