the
whole day to think it over."

"Send the man to New York by the next steamer," I said. "There is my
decision, Mr. Playmore, without keeping you waiting for it!"

He shook his head, in grave disapproval of my impetuosity. In my former
interview with him we had never once touched on the question of money.
I was now, for the first time, to make acquaintance with Mr. Playmore on
the purely Scotch side of his character.

"Why, you don't even know what it will cost you!" he exclaimed, taking
out his pocket-book with the air of a man who was equally startled and
scandalized. "Wait till I tot it up," he said, "in English and American
money."

"I can't wait! I want to make more discoveries!"

He took no notice of my interruption; he went on impenetrably with his
calculations.

"The man will go second-class, and will take a return-ticket. Very well.
His ticket includes his food; and (being, thank God, a teetotaler) he
won't waste your money in buying liquor on board. Arrived at New York,
he will go to a cheap German house, where he will, as I am credibly
informed, be boarded and lodged at the rate--"

By this time (my patience being completely worn out) I had taken my
check-book from the table-drawer, had signed my name, and had handed the
blank check across the table to my legal adviser.

"Fill it in with whatever the man wants," I said. "And for Heaven's sake
let us get back to Dexter!"

Mr. Playmore fell back in his chair, and lifted his hands and eyes to
the ceiling. I was not in the least impressed by that solemn appeal
to the unseen powers of arithmetic and money. I insisted positively on
being fed with more information.

"Listen to this," I went on, reading from Benjamin's notes. "What did
Dexter mean when he said, 'Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. You
shan't have the Diary. A secret in your ear. The Diary will hang him?'
How came Dexter to know what was in my husband's Diary? And what does he
mean by 'Number Nine, Caldershaws,' and the rest of it? Facts again?"

"Facts again!" Mr. Playmore answered, "muddled up together, as you may
say--but positive facts for all that. Caldershaws, you must know, is one
of the most disreputable districts in Edinburgh. One of my clerks (whom
I am in the habit of employing confidentially) volunteered to inquire
for 'Dandie' at 'Number Nine.' It was a ticklish business in every
way; and my man wisely took a person with him who was known in the
neighborhood. 'Number