e old game--he'd only want more."

"He said an annuity," remarked Cotherstone, thoughtfully. "And he added
significantly, that he was getting an old man."

"How old?" demanded Mallalieu.

"Between sixty and seventy," said Cotherstone. "I'm under the impression
that he could be squared, could be satisfied. He'll have to be! We can't
let it get out--I can't, any way. There's my daughter to think of."

"D'ye think I'd let it get out?" asked Mallalieu. "No!--all I'm thinking
of is if we really can silence him. I've heard of cases where a man's
paid blackmail for years and years, and been no better for it in the
end."

"Well--he's coming here tomorrow afternoon some time," said Cotherstone.
"We'd better see him--together. After all, a hundred a year--a couple of
hundred a year--'ud be better than--exposure."

Mallalieu drank off his whisky and pushed the glass aside.

"I'll consider it," he remarked. "What's certain sure is that he'll have
to be quietened. I must go--I've an appointment. Are you coming out?"

"Not yet," replied Cotherstone. "I've all these papers to go through.
Well, think it well over. He's a man to be feared."

Mallalieu made no answer. He, like Kitely, went off without a word of
farewell, and Cotherstone was once more left alone.

CHAPTER III

MURDER

When Mallalieu had gone, Cotherstone gathered up the papers which his
clerk had brought in, and sitting down at his desk tried to give his
attention to them. The effort was not altogether a success. He had hoped
that the sharing of the bad news with his partner would bring some
relief to him, but his anxieties were still there. He was always seeing
that queer, sinister look in Kitely's knowing eyes: it suggested that as
long as Kitely lived there would be no safety. Even if Kitely kept his
word, kept any compact made with him, he would always have the two
partners under his thumb. And for thirty years Cotherstone had been
under no man's thumb, and the fear of having a master was hateful to
him. He heartily wished that Kitely was dead--dead and buried, and his
secret with him; he wished that it had been anywise possible to have
crushed the life out of him where he sat in that easy chair as soon as
he had shown himself the reptile that he was. A man might kill any
poisonous insect, any noxious reptile at pleasure--why not a human
blood-sucker like that?

He sat there a long time, striving to give his attention to his papers,
and making