"You say you saw my boy? He was safe?"
"I saw a child, which I was told was yours, Mr. Stapleton. I did not recognize him, of course. You know I have never seen your son. Also, he was dressed as a girl."
Mr. Stapleton produced a photograph with nervous haste. "Was he like this?" he demanded.
"Yes. It was the same." There was sufficient resemblance, even in the disguise the boy wore, for Grace to be practically certain of his identity.
"How am I to know that these scoundrels will keep their word?" Mr. Stapleton groaned, his head on his hands.
"Do you intend, then, to give them the money?"
"Certainly. Do you suppose I would take any chances, for the matter of a hundred thousand dollars—or twice as much, for that matter? His mother and I are unable to sleep, to eat, to do anything in fact, under the strain of this thing. I shall by all means do as they ask."
"But they will get away."
"That is nothing to me. Let them. Once my boy is safe, I can spend another hundred thousand to catch them; but not now—when one false step might mean his death."
"They won't harm him, Mr. Stapleton. They are too anxious for the money, to let anything happen to him."