nd Mallalieu's. It
was sheer accident, of course, that I ever discovered it. But--I know!
Just consider what I do know. Consider, too, what you stand to lose.
There's Mallalieu, so much respected that he's Mayor of this ancient
borough for the second time. There's you--so much trusted that you've
been Borough Treasurer for years. You can't afford to let me tell the
Highmarket folk that you two are ex-convicts! Besides, in your case
there's another thing--there's your daughter."

Cotherstone groaned--a deep, unmistakable groan of sheer torture. But
Kitely went on remorselessly.

"Your daughter's just about to marry the most promising young man in the
place," he said. "A young fellow with a career before him. Do you think
he'd marry her if he knew that her father--even if it is thirty years
ago--had been convicted of----"

"Look you here!" interrupted Cotherstone, through set teeth. "I've had
enough! I've asked you once before if you'd any more to say--now I'll
put it in another fashion. For I see what you're after--and it's
blackmail! How much do you want? Come on--give it a name!"

"Name nothing, till you've told Mallalieu," answered Kitely. "There's no
hurry. You two can't, and I shan't, run away. Time enough--I've the whip
hand. Tell your partner, the Mayor, all I've told you--then you can put
your heads together, and see what you're inclined to do. An annuity,
now?--that would suit me."

"You haven't mentioned this to a soul?" asked Cotherstone anxiously.

"Bah!" sneered Kitely. "D'ye think I'm a fool? Not likely. Well--now you
know. I'll come in here again tomorrow afternoon. And--you'll both be
here, and ready with a proposal."

He picked up his glass, leisurely drank off its remaining contents, and
without a word of farewell opened the door and went quietly away.

CHAPTER II

CRIME--AND SUCCESS

For some moments after Kitely had left him, Cotherstone stood vacantly
staring at the chair in which the blackmailer had sat. As yet he could
not realize things. He was only filled with a queer, vague amazement
about Kitely himself. He began to look back on his relations with
Kitely. They were recent--very recent, only of yesterday, as you might
say. Kitely had come to him, one day about three months previously, told
him that he had come to these parts for a bit of a holiday, taken a
fancy to a cottage which he, Cotherstone, had to let, and inquired its
rent. He had mentioned, casually, that he had just