"But the whole thing's as clear as daylight," Jim said to himself impatiently. And yet—and yet—Mr. Haslitt had sat in that arm-chair during the better part of the day, during the better part of thirty years. How many men and women during those years had crossed the roadway below this window and crept into this quiet oblong room with their grievances, their calamities, their confessions? And had passed out again, each one contributing his little to complete the old man's knowledge and sharpen the edge of his wit? Then, if Mr. Haslitt was troubled, there was something in that letter, or some mission from it, which he himself in his novitiate had overlooked. He began to read it over again in his mind to the best of his recollection, but he had not got far before Mr. Haslitt put the letter down.
"Surely, sir," cried Jim, "it's an obvious case of blackmail."
Mr. Haslitt awoke with a little shake of his shoulders.
"Blackmail? Oh! that of course, Jim."
Mr. Haslitt got up and unlocked his safe. He took from it the two Waberski letters and brought them across the room to Jim.
"Here's the evidence, as damning as any one could wish."
Jim read the letters through and uttered a little cry of delight.
"The rogue has delivered himself over to us."
"Yes," said Mr. Haslitt.
But to him, at all events, that was not enough; he was still looking through the lines of the letter for something beyond, which he could not find.