“You know very well what I want,” he answered quickly.  “I have my cheque-book in my pocket, and I am ready to pay over the hundred thousand dollars.  I know that you have the paper.  If you like to wait for ten minutes, you can have the money in dollars.”

“How do you know that I have the paper?” she asked calmly.

“Your cousin, Miss Virginia, has been to our office,” he answered.  “She thought, naturally, that you had brought it straight to us.  I don’t know whether she seriously expected that we would give it up again, but that seemed to be the object of her visit.  At any rate, we learnt that you had succeeded.”

Stella was busy with the last finger of her glove.

“Yes!” she said, “I succeeded.  It was a brutal action, and I shall never quite forgive myself for it, but I got the paper.”

“Well?” he said.

“Well?” she answered calmly.

A horrible misgiving came over him.

“You haven’t parted with it?” he demanded anxiously.  “You haven’t let your father have it back again?”

“I have not parted with it,” she answered, “to my father.  On the other hand, I certainly have not got it.  A hundred thousand dollars is a good deal of money, Mr. Littleson; but I did not commit theft for the benefit of you and your friends.”

“What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely.

“Exactly what I say,” she answered.  “The paper is in safe keeping.  You will probably hear before long who has it.”

Littleson was speechless.  All manner of horrible fears oppressed him.  “You must tell me,” he insisted hoarsely, “where it is, who has got it!  This is infamous!  Why, if I had not told you—­”

“I should not have known anything about it,” she interrupted.  “Quite true!  I suppose I ought to thank you.  However, as I say, the paper is in safe hands, but not my father’s.  You will probably hear something about it before long.”

“For God’s sake, tell me who has it, Miss Duge!” he implored.  “You can’t understand what this means to us.  We were fools to sign it, I know; but your father insisted, and we had, I suppose, a weak moment.  After all, there isn’t anything so very terrible about it.  We have a right to protect ourselves, we of the Trusts, whether our cause be just or not.”

“Exactly!” she admitted.  “No doubt you will have a case.  I hope you will find, supposing the worst happens, that popular sympathy will be on your side.  Most things are bought and sold in this country.  I don’t quite know how the American public will appreciate this attempted buying of the conscience of her public men.  It might perhaps make you temporarily a little unpopular, necessitate a trip to Europe perhaps, or something of that sort.  Well, I wish you well out of it, and now I must really go.  If you do have to come across in a hurry, Mr. Littleson, I may see something of you in Paris.”

“You are going to Europe, then?” he asked breathlessly.