“I paid a thousand dollars for the writing of the original letter,” continued Carpenter. “I paid the same sum for the one which you wrote. I have both of the letters in my possession—”
“The one that I received? That’s a lie! I have it here—”
Carpenter laughed as Morton began to fumble in his pockets. He seemed to relish the look of confusion that came over the multimillionaire’s face.
“You left the letter in another suit,” declared Carpenter. “Quite thoughtless of you. I extracted it at a convenient moment.”
Morton’s glower returned. The man clenched his fists and appeared to be on the verge of attacking his oppressor. Carpenter, however, was quite unperturbed.
“If you have the letters,” blurted Morton suddenly, “prove it to me!”
Carpenter brought two sheets of paper from his pocket. Morton snatched them. Carpenter laughed.
“Photostatic copies,” he said. “Simple proofs that the originals are in my possession.”
Gifford Morton paced up and down the room, a wave of changing humors passing over his features. At last, he paused and flung the photostatic prints into Carpenter’s hands.
“Suppose I do not pay you,” demanded Morton. “What do you propose to do with those letters?”