“My letters!” the lady laughed, “You’ve no letters of mine.”

“No, but I know where the correspondence that has passed between you and the Rev. J.T.  Calthorpe is to be found.  He has sixty-nine letters from you all tied up in pink ribbon, locked up in the bottom drawer of the bureau in his study at the Vicarage.  Some of the letters begin with ’Dearest, duckiest, handsomest Herby’—­short for Herbert; and others, ‘Fondest, blondest, darlingest Micky-moo!’ Some end with ’A thousand and one kisses from your loving and ever devoted Francesca,’ and others with ’Love and kisses ad infinitum, ever your loving, thirsting, adoring one, Toosie!’ Nice letters from the wife of a respectable Nob Hill magnate to a married clergyman!”

The lady walked a trifle unsteadily, and much of her colour was gone.  “I can’t understand it,” she panted; “somebody has played me false.”

“As the Rev. J.T.  Calthorpe is on his way to Sacramento, where he has to remain till to-morrow,” Kelson went on pitilessly, “it will be the easiest thing in the world to get those letters.  I have merely to call at the house and tell his wife.”

“And what good will that do you?” the lady asked.

“Revenge!  I hate the rich,” Kelson said.  “I would do anything to injure them.”

“You are a Socialist?”

“An Anarchist!  But come, you see I know all about you and that I have you completely in my power.  If once either your husband or Mrs. Calthorpe gets hold of those letters—­you and your lover would have a very unpleasant time of it.”

“You’re a devil!”

“Maybe I am—­at all events I’m talking to one.  But that’s neither here nor there.  I want money.  Give me a thousand dollars and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Blackmail!  I could have you arrested!”

“Yes, and I would tell the court the whole history of your intrigues!  That wouldn’t help you,”—­and Kelson laughed.

“Could I count on you not molesting me again if I were to pay you?” the lady said mockingly.

“You could.”

“Do you ever speak the truth?”

“You needn’t judge every one by your own standard of morality—­the standard set up by the millionaire’s wife,” Kelson said.  “I swear that if you pay me a thousand dollars I will never trouble you again.”

The lady grew thoughtful, and for some minutes neither of them spoke.  Then she suddenly jerked out:  “I think, after all, I’ll accept your proposal.  Wait outside here and you shall have what you want within an hour.”

“Not good enough,” Kelson said, “I prefer to come with you to your house and wait there.”

The lady protested, and Kelson consented to wait in the street outside her house, where, eventually, she delivered the money into his hands.

“I’ve kept my word,” she said, “and if you’re half a man you’ll keep yours.”

Kelson reassured her, and more than pleased with himself, made for the hotel, where the three of them were now stopping.