a jilting letter!... Mrs. De Peyster
jilted!... If that were ever to come out--

For a moment she lay enfeebled and overwhelmed with horror. Then
convulsively she crushed the letter in her hands.

"See here--wha' d' you mean?" cried the startled detective, springing
forward; in a moment his powerful hands rescued the document.

"Both of my sisters think we ought to stand out for more money,"
apologized Mr. Pyecroft. "And I'm not so sure they're not right."

"We've made our bargain already," quickly returned Mr. Brown. "And
that's just how we'll settle."

He started to slip the letter into a pocket. But Mr. Pyecroft caught
hold of it.

"How about the money?"

"You mean you don't trust me?"

"I'm not saying that," apologized Mr. Pyecroft. "But this means a lot
to us. We can't afford to run any risks."

"All right, then."

[Illustration: "SAME PAPER--SAME HANDWRITING!"]

Mr. Brown released the letter, drew a leather wallet from inside his
vest, counted off six five-hundred-dollar bills, returned the wallet
and held out the bills. The exchange was made. The detective carefully
put the letter into a thick manila envelope, which he licked and
sealed and put inside his vest to keep company with the wallet.

Mr. Pyecroft counted the bills, slowly, three or four times; then
looked up.

"I bet my sisters were right; you would have paid more," he said
regretfully, greedily.

"Never you mind what I would have paid!" retorted the detective,
buttoning his coat over the letter.

"You'd have paid twice that!" Mr. Pyecroft exclaimed disappointedly.

The detective, triumphant, could not resist grinning confirmingly.

"We've been outwitted!" cried Mr. Pyecroft. He turned to the two woman
contritely. "If I'd only heeded you--let you have managed the affair!"

"You people got a mighty good price," commented Detective Brown.

"Well--perhaps so," sighed Mr. Pyecroft. Chagrin gave way to curiosity
in his face. "I wonder, now, how Mrs. Allistair is going to use the
letter?"

"That's none of my business."

"She must think she can do a lot with it," mused Mr. Pyecroft. "If
the letter, or its substance, were printed, say in 'Town Gossip,' I
suppose it would mean the end of Mrs. De Peyster's social leadership,
and Mrs. Allistair would then have things her own way."

"Can't say," said the detective. But he winked knowingly.

When he had gone Mr. Pyecroft stood listening until the descending
tread had thinned into silenc