s a swindler!"

"I think so too," she said, studying the rose arabesques in the rug.

There was a little click of her teeth when she ended her inspection and
looked across at Mortimer. Something in her expressionless gaze seemed
to reassure him, and give him a confidence he may have lacked.

"I want him to understand that I won't swallow that sort of contemptible
treatment," asserted Mortimer, lighting a thick, dark cigar.

"I hope you'll make him understand," she said, seating herself and
resting her clasped, brilliantly ringed hands in her lap.

"Oh, I will--never fear! He has abused my confidence abominably; he has
practically swindled me, Lydia. Don't you think so?"

She nodded.

"I'll tell him so, too," blustered Mortimer, shaking himself into an
upright posture, and laying a pudgy, clinched fist on the table. "I'm
not afraid of him! He'll find that out, too. I know enough to stagger
him. Not that I mean to use it. I'm not going to have him think that my
demands on him for my own property resemble extortion."

"Extortion?" she repeated.

"Yes. I don't want him to think I'm trying to intimidate him. I won't
have him think I'm a grafter; but I've half a mind to shake that money
out of him, in one way or another."

He struck the table and looked at her for further sign of approval.

"I'm not afraid of him," he repeated. "I wish to God he were here, and
I'd tell him so!"

She said coolly: "I was wishing that too."

For a while they sat silent, preoccupied, avoiding each other's direct
gaze. When she rose he started, watching her in a dazed way as she
walked to the telephone.

"Shall I?" she asked quietly, turning to him, her hand on the receiver.

"Wait. W-what are you going to do?" he stammered.

"Call him up. Shall I?"

A dull throb of fright pulsed through him.

"You say you are not afraid of him, Leroy."

"No!" he said with an oath, "I am not. Go ahead!"

She unhooked the receiver. After a second or two her low, even voice
sounded. There came a pause. She rested one elbow on the walnut shelf,
the receiver tight to her ear. Then:

"Mr. Quarrier, please. ... Yes, Mr. Howard Quarrier. ... No, no name. Say it
is on business of immediate importance. ... Very well, then; you may say
that Miss Vyse insists on speaking to him. ... Yes, I'll hold the wire."

She turned, the receiver at her ear, and looked narrowly at Mortimer.

"Won't he speak to you?" he demanded.

"I'm going to find out. Hush