you take this thing," she
said, extending the revolver, "it makes me nervous, an' I told you at
the start there wasn't no use of it."

And now, something had clicked in Norcross again. His mouth had closed
like a vise, light had come back to his eyes; he was again the Norcross
of the street.

"You're a devil," he said, "but you're a marvelously clever woman--"

"So clever," responded Mrs. Markham in dulcet tones, "that I intend
never to worry about finances again--by your leave, Mr. Norcross."

"That means blackmail, I suppose," said Norcross.

"Now, Mr. Norcross, I beg of you," protested Mrs. Markham, "I have
_never_ used harsh names for unpleasant truths with you! Do me the same
courtesy. You will agree, I think, that the Norcross interests would
suffer if people knew that Robert H. Norcross was running to spirit
mediums--my business is little appreciated. The newspapers, Mr.
Norcross--"

"Would any newspaper believe you?" asked Norcross.

"An admirable method," responded Mrs. Markham, "an admirable method of
getting these people before the public as witnesses"--her gesture
indicated Dr. Blake and Rosalie--"would be to sue for custody of my
niece, whom this young man intends, I believe, to take away tonight.
Certain unusual features of this case would charm the newspapers."

Rosalie shook Blake's shoulder.

"Doctor!" she cried, "can't you see what she's aiming at? She's trying
to drag us into her blackmailing. She's tryin' to make this look like a
plant." She whirled on Norcross.

"Listen, Mr. Norcross. I'll tell you what this was done for! Do you
know a youngish lookin' man, smooth-shaven, neat dresser, gray eyes,
about forty-five, got something to do with Wall Street, wears one of
them little twisted-up red and white society buttons in his buttonhole,
has a trick of holding his chin between his fingers--so--when he's
thinkin'? Because _he_ started it. He's the nigger in your woodpile. He
came here a week before you ever saw Mrs. Markham, bringin' the notes
about Helen Whitton--the dope that she's been feedin' you. If you'll
put that together with what the spirit--she--Miss Markham, told you
tonight about declarin' dividends--"

"Mrs. Granger," interrupted Mrs. Markham, "you are a shrewd woman, but
you carry your deductions a little far--"

"Deductions, your grandmother!" retorted Rosalie Le Grange, "To think
how close you come to foolin' even _me_ that's played this game, girl
and woman, for twenty-f