She looked up at Wrayson as though for advice.
"Mrs. Barnes," he said gravely, "I can tell you what is in that packet. You can see for yourself, then, whether it is anything by means of which you can make money. It consists of the letters of a very famous woman to the man whom she loved. They were stolen from him on the battlefield. I do not wish to pain you, but the thief was Morris Barnes. The friends of the lady who wrote them paid your brother two thousand pounds a year. Her enemies offered him—ten thousand pounds down. There is the secret of Morris Barnes' wealth."
Sydney Barnes leaned over the back of her chair. His hot whisper seemed to burn her cheek.
"Keep the packet, sister-in-law. Don't part!"
"Your brother-in-law," Wrayson remarked, "is evidently disposed to continue your husband's operations. Remember you are not at liberty to do as he asks. Your husband's words are plain. He orders you to burn the packet."
"How do I know that you are telling me the truth?" she asked abruptly.
"Undo the packet," he suggested. "A glance inside should show you."
For some reason or other she seemed dissatisfied. She pointed towards the Baroness.
"What is she doing here?" she asked.
"She is a friend of the woman who wrote those letters," Wrayson answered. "I want her to see them destroyed."