“Well, you’re right. That paper might cause me trouble if it got into the wrong hands,” she frankly stated. “Even Judge Ferguson never knew what it was, for I kept it sealed up in a long yellow envelope just marked ‘private’ on the outside. When the box was stolen the envelope and all disappeared.”
“What was the paper?” he asked again.
“A—a will.”
“Oh! Mr. Ritchie’s will?”
“No. But it was a will, giving me power over property. If you run across it, and see my name, don’t read the paper but bring it straight to me and the thousand dollars is yours—with the understanding you keep your mouth shut forever.”
He smiled at her complacently. Here was a streak of good luck that well repaid the unscrupulous attorney for undertaking Mrs. Ritchie’s case and submitting to all her abuse. She admitted she was not an honest woman. She admitted the lost will would be damaging evidence against her. Very well, she was now in his power and as she was a rich woman he could extort money from her whenever he pleased, by simply resorting to threats.
Mrs. Ritchie read the smile correctly and nodded with grim comprehension.
“I’ve told you this for two reasons,” she said. “One is so you can identify the paper if you find it, and bring it to me. The other reason is because I can put you in jail if you try to blackmail me.”
“Oh; you can?”
“Easy. It was you that put that box in Toby Clark’s rubbish heap, so the police could find it there. You got a box, painted it blue, to look like mine, put my name on the end, and then smashed the lock, battered the box all up an’ carried it to the rubbish heap.”