"A month since I paid, through my agent, your last quarterly bill. No more money will be due you till the 1st of December."
"I want a thousand dollars," said the visitor quietly.
"What!" ejaculated Kenyon.
"I want a thousand dollars before I leave Brentville."
"You won't get it from me!"
"Consider a moment, Mr. Crandall,—I mean Mr. Kenyon,—the result of my publishing this secret of yours. I understand that your wife's property, which you wrongfully hold, amounts to a quarter of a million of dollars. If all were known, your step-son Oliver and his mother would step into it, and you would be left out in the cold. Disagreeable, very! Can't you introduce me to Oliver?"
Mr. Kenyon's face was a study. He was like a fly in the meshes of a spider, absolutely helpless.
"If I give you a check," he said, "will you leave Brentville at once?"
"First thing to-morrow morning."
"Can't you go before?"