"Well," he said, "this all seems rather like a waste of time, but I scarcely see how it would be likely to land you in a difficulty."

"But it has," she answered. "That is what I want to explain to you.

The woman insisted upon having a letter in the handwriting of the person I asked questions about, and I foolishly gave her one that was in my pocket. When I asked for it back again, the day afterwards, she said she had mislaid it."

"But was the letter of any importance?" he asked.

"There wasn't much in it, of course," she answered, "but it was a private letter."

"It is infamous!" he declared. "I should give information to the police at once."

She held out her hands--tiny little white hands, ringless and soft.

"My dear man," she exclaimed, "how can I? Give information to the police, indeed! What, go and admit before a magistrate that I had been to a fortune-teller, especially," she added, looking down, "on such an errand?"

He drew a little nearer to her.

"I beg your pardon," he answered. "I was thoughtless. That, of course, is not possible. Tell me the name and the address of the person to whom you went."

"The woman's name was Helga," she answered, "and it was in the upper end of Bond Street. Daisy Knowles told me about the place. Heaps of people I know have been."

"And the letter?" he asked. "Tell me, if you can, what is its precise significance?"

"It was a letter from Charlie Peyton," she answered--"Major Peyton, in the Guards, you know. There wasn't anything in it that mattered really, but I shall not have a moment's peace until it is returned to me."

"Have you told me everything?" he asked.

"No!" she admitted.

"Perhaps it would be as well," he murmured.

She produced a letter from the bosom of her gown.

"I received this last night," she said.

He glanced it rapidly through. The form of it was well-known to him.

"_Dear Madam_,

"_A letter addressed to you, and in the handwriting of a certain Major Charles Peyton, has come into our hands within the last few hours. It is dated from the Army and Navy Club, and its postmark is June 1st. The contents are probably well-known to you._

"_It is our wish to return same into your hands at once, but we may say that it was handed to us in trust by a gentleman who is indebted to us for a considerable sum of money and he spoke of this doc.u.ment, which we did not inspect at the time, as being a probable form of security._

"_Perhaps your ladyship can suggest some means by which we might be able to hand over the letter to you without breaking faith with our friend._

"_Sincerely yours_, "_Jacobson & Co.--Agents._

"_17, Charing Cross Road._"

"A distinct attempt at blackmail!" Saton exclaimed, indignantly.

"Isn't it wicked?" Lady Mary replied, looking at him appealingly. "But how am I to deal with it? What am I to do? I don't wish to correspond with these people, and I daren't tell Henry a thing about it."

"Naturally," he answered. "My dear Lady Mary, there are two courses open to you. First, you can take this letter to the police, when you will get your own letter back without paying a penny, and these rascals will be prosecuted. The only disadvantage attached to this course is that your name will appear in the papers, and the letter will be made public."

"You must see," she declared, "that that is an absolute impossibility.

My husband would be furious with me, and so would Major Peyton. Please suggest something else."

"Then, on the other hand," he continued, "the only alternative course is to make the best bargain you can with the scoundrels who are responsible for this."

"But how can I?" she asked plaintively. "I cannot go to see these people, nor can I have them come here. I don't know how much money they want. You know I haven't a penny of my own, and although my husband is generous enough, he likes to know what I want money for. I have spent my allowance for the whole of the year already. I believe I am even in debt."

Saton hesitated for several moments. Lady Mary watched him all the time anxiously.

"If you will allow me," he said, "I will take this letter away with me, and see these people on your behalf. I have no doubt that I can make much better terms with them than you could."

She drew a little sigh of relief.

"That is just what I was hoping you would propose," she declared, handing it over to him. "It is so good of you, Mr. Saton. I feel there are so few people I could trust in a matter like this. You will be very careful, won't you?"

"I will be very careful," he answered.

"And when you have the letter," she continued, "you will bring it straight back to me?"

"Of course," he promised, "only first I must find out what their terms are. They will probably begin by suggesting an extravagant sum. Tell me how far you are prepared to go?"

"You think I shall have to pay a great deal of money, then?" she asked, anxiously.

"That depends entirely," he answered, "upon what you call a great deal of money."

"I might manage two hundred pounds," she said, doubtfully.

He smiled.

"I am afraid," he said, "that Messrs. Jacobson & Co., or whatever their name is, will expect more than that."

"It is so unlucky," she murmured. "I have just paid a huge dressmaker's bill, and I have lost at bridge every night for a week.

Do the best you can for me, dear Mr. Saton."

He leaned towards her, but he was too great an artist not to realize that her feeling for him was one of pure indifference. He was to be made use of, if possible--to be dazzled a little, perhaps, but nothing more.

"I will do the best I can," he said, rising, as he saw her eyes travel towards the clock, "but I am afraid--I don't want to frighten you--but I am afraid that you will have to find at least five hundred pounds."

"If I must, I must," she answered, with a sigh. "I shall have to owe money everywhere, or else tell Henry that I have lost it at bridge.

This is so good of you, Mr. Saton."

"If I can serve you," he concluded, holding her hand for a moment in his, "it will be a pleasure, even though the circ.u.mstances are so unfortunate."

"I shall esteem the service none the less," she answered, smiling at him. "Come and see me directly you know anything. I shall be so anxious."