“One thousand dollars.”
Carpenter was smiling as he baited the millionaire. Morton rubbed his hand across his forehead as though in deep despair. He picked up the photostatic papers that Carpenter had laid on the table beside him.
“You had these copies made,” said Morton slowly. “Made from letters which you obtained through the woman whose name appears upon them. It was a conspiracy—”
“It was a conspiracy,” repeated Carpenter.
“More than that,” declared Morton, “at present you are trying to blackmail me. Do you understand that? This is blackmail!”
“Of course it is,” retorted Carpenter curtly. “I’m glad it has dawned upon you. I am blackmailing you, Morton. Blackmail is my game. Now come across!”
Morton fished in his pocket and removed a wad of bills. He counted the money in a shaky hand. He extended it to Carpenter.
“Here is the ten thousand that we spoke about,” he said, “and ten thousand more. As for the other ninety thousand—”
“Colondora stock will be satisfactory to me,” rejoined Carpenter. “You have more than ninety thousand dollars’ worth of it here. You were planning to unload it. I can do that as well as you—”
Gifford Morton spread his hands in the manner of a man who admits defeat. He smiled weakly, and walked with unsteady tread toward the door of an inner room.