lt that the nerve-racked society woman before us must be either
telling the truth or else that she was one of the cleverest actresses I
had ever seen.

"Have you the letter here?" asked Craig quickly.

Mrs. Seabury reached into her neat leather party case and pulled out a
carefully folded sheet of note paper.

It was all typewritten, down to the very signature itself. Evidently the
blackmailer had taken every precaution to protect himself, for even if
the typewriting could be studied and identified, it would be next to
impossible to get at the writer through it and locate the machine on
which it was written among the thousands in the city.

Kennedy studied the letter carefully, then, with a low exclamation,
handed it over to me, nodding to Mrs. Seabury that it was all right for
me to see it.

"No ordinary fellow, I'm afraid," he commented musingly, adding, "this
thief of reputations."

I read, beginning with the insolent familiarity of "Dear Agatha."

"I hope you will pardon me for writing to you," the letter
continued, "but I find that I am in a rather difficult position
financially. As you know, in the present disorganized state of
the stock market, investments which in normal times are good
are now almost valueless. Still, I must protect those I already
have without sacrificing them.

"It is therefore necessary that I raise fifty thousand dollars
before the end of the week, and I know of no one to appeal to
but you--who have shared so many pleasant stolen hours with me.

"Of course, I understand all that you have told me about Mr.
Seabury and his violent nature. Still, I feel sure that one of
your wealth and standing in the community can find a way to
avoid all trouble from that quarter. Naturally, I should prefer
to take every precaution to prevent the fact of our intimacy
from coming to Mr. Seabury's knowledge. But I am really
desperate and feel that you alone can help me.

"Hoping to hear from you soon, I am,
"Your old tango friend,
"H. MORGAN SHERBURNE."

I fairly gasped at the thinly veiled threat of exposure at the end of
the note from this artistic blackmailer.

She was watching our faces anxiously as we read.

"Oh," she cried wildly, glancing from one to the other of us, strangers
to whom in her despair she had been forced to bare the secrets of her
proud heart, "he's so clever about it, too. I--I d