"Sure. The more that corroborates it the better."
Her face to the wall, the faint light slanting across her shoulder, she glanced at the letter. The Duke's own handwriting! And a jilting letter!—politely worded—but a jilting letter!... Mrs. De Peyster jilted!... If that were ever to come out—
For a moment she lay enfeebled and overwhelmed with horror. Then convulsively she crushed the letter in her hands.
"See here—wha' d' you mean?" cried the startled detective, springing forward; in a moment his powerful hands rescued the document.
"Both of my sisters think we ought to stand out for more money," apologized Mr. Pyecroft. "And I'm not so sure they're not right."
"We've made our bargain already," quickly returned Mr. Brown. "And that's just how we'll settle."
He started to slip the letter into a pocket. But Mr. Pyecroft caught hold of it.
"How about the money?"
"You mean you don't trust me?"
"I'm not saying that," apologized Mr. Pyecroft. "But this means a lot to us. We can't afford to run any risks."