She laughed outright now—a silvery joyous laugh. And, refusing the baffled Minot's offer to take her back to the hotel, she fled away from him down the dark path.
He fell back into his chair, and lighted another cigar. Exit the Gaiety lady, laughing merrily. What was the meaning of that? What new complication must he meet and solve?
For his answer, he had only to return to the hotel. On the steps he was met by Lord Harrowby's man, agitated, puffing.
"Been looking all about for you, sir," he announced. "'Is lordship wishes to see you at once—most h'important."
"More trouble, Minot," was Lord Harrowby's gloomy greeting. "Sit down, old chap. Just had a very nasty visitor."
"Sorry to hear it."
"Little brown monkey of a man—Manuel Gonzale, proprietor of the San Marco Mail. I say, old boy, there's a syllable missing in the name of that paper. Do you get me?"
"You mean it should be the San Marco Blackmail? Pretty good, Harrowby, pretty good." And Minot added to himself "for you."
"That's exactly what I do mean. Gabrielle has sold out her bunch of letters to Mr. Gonzale. And it appears from the chap's sly hints that unless I pay him ten thousand dollars before midnight, the best of those letters will be in to-morrow's Mail."
"He's got his nerve—working a game like that," said Minot.