“Of course,” continued Mrs. Marteen, as Gard uttered a suppressed oath, “you couldn’t foresee a year ago what future conditions would make the writing of those letters a very dangerous thing; otherwise you would have conducted your business by word of mouth.  Believe me, I do not underrate your genius.”

He laid his hands roughly upon the photographs.  “I have a mind to have you arrested this instant,” he snarled.

“But you won’t,” she added—­“not while you don’t know where the originals are.  It means too much to you.  The slightest menacing move toward me would be fatal to your interests.  I don’t wish you any harm, Mr. Gard; I simply want money.”

In spite of his perturbation, amazement held him silent.  If a shining angel with harp and halo had confronted him with a proposition to rob a church, the situation could not have astonished him more.  She gave him time to recover.

“Of course you must readjust your concepts, particularly as to me.  You thought me a rich woman—­well, I’m not.  I’ve about twenty-five thousand dollars left, and a few—­resources.  My expenses this season will be unusually heavy.”

“Why this season?” He asked the question to gain time.  He was thinking hard.

“My daughter Dorothy makes her debut, as perhaps you may have heard.”

Gard gave another gasp.  Here was a mother blackmailing the Gibraltar of finance for her little girl’s coming-out party.  Suddenly, quite as unexpectedly to himself as to his hearer, he burst into a peal of laughter.

“I see—­I see.  ‘The time has come to talk of many things.’”

She met his mood.  “Well, not so much time.  You see, not all kings are cabbage heads—­and while pigs may not have wings, riches have.”

“You are versatile, Mrs. Marteen.  I confess this whole interview has an ‘Alice in Wonderland’ quality.”  He was regaining his composure.  “But I see you want to get down to figures.  May I inquire your price?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”  There was finality in her tone.

“And how soon?”

“Within the next week.  You know this is a crisis in this affair—­I waited for it.”

“Indeed!  You seem to have singular foresight.”

She nodded gravely.  “Yes, and unusual means of obtaining information, as it is needless for me to inform you.  I am, I think, making you a very reasonable offer, Mr. Gard.  You would have paid twice as much for the Vandyke.”

“And how do you propose, Mrs. Marteen, to effect this little business deal without compromising either of us?” His tone was half banter, but her reply was to the point.

“I will place my twenty-five thousand with your firm, with the understanding that you are to invest for me, in any deal you happen to be interested in—­Texas, for instance.  It wouldn’t be surprising if my money should treble, would it?  In fact, there is every reason to expect it—­is there not?  If all I own is invested in these securities, I would not desire them to decline, would I?  I merely suggest this method,” she continued, with a shrug as if to deprecate its lack of originality, “because it would be a transaction by no means unusual to you, and would attract no attention.”