“I beg your pardon, Mr. Gridley; but I don’t understand why you come to me with such questions.  Lawyer Penhallow is the proper person, I should think, to go to.  He and his partner that was—­Mr. Wibird, you know—­settled the estate, and he has got the papers, I suppose, if there are any, that ain’t to be found in the offices you mention.”

Mr. Gridley moved his chair a little, so as to bring Miss Badlam’s face a little more squarely in view.

“Does Mr. William Murray Bradshaw know anything about any papers, such as I am referring to, that may have been sent to the office?”

The lady felt a little moisture stealing through all her pores, and at the same time a certain dryness of the vocal organs, so that her answer came in a slightly altered tone which neither of them could help noticing.

“You had better ask Mr. William Murray Bradshaw yourself about that,” she answered.  She felt the hook now, and her spines were rising, partly with apprehension, partly with irritation.

“Has that young gentleman ever delivered into your hands any papers relating to the affairs of the late Malachi Withers, for your safe keeping?”

“What do you mean by asking me these questions, Mr. Gridley?  I don’t choose to be catechised about Murray Bradshaw’s business.  Go to him, if you please, if you want to find out about it.”

“Excuse my persistence, Miss Badlam, but I must prevail upon you to answer my question.  Has Mr. William Murray Bradshaw ever delivered into your hands any papers relating to the affairs of the late Malachi Withers, for your safe keeping?”

“Do you suppose I am going to answer such questions as you are putting me because you repeat them over, Mr. Gridley?  Indeed I cha’n’t.  Ask him, if you please, whatever you wish to know about his doings.”

She drew herself up and looked savagely at him.  She had talked herself into her courage.  There was a color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye; she looked dangerous as a cobra.

“Miss Cynthia Badlam,” Master Gridley said, very deliberately, “I am afraid we do not entirely understand each other.  You must answer my question precisely, categorically, point-blank, and on the instant.  Will you do this at once, or will you compel me to show you the absolute necessity of your doing it, at the expense of pain to both of us?  Six words from me will make you answer all my questions.”

“You can’t say six words, nor sixty, Mr. Gridley, that will make me answer one question I do not choose to.  I defy you!”

“I will not say one, Miss Cynthia Badlam.  There are some things one does not like to speak in words.  But I will show you a scrap of paper, containing just six words and a date; not one word more nor one less.  You shall read them.  Then I will burn the paper in the flame of your lamp.  As soon after that as you feel ready, I will ask the same question again.”