“Oh, no.” He held it behind him. “Not till I get five hundred dollars.”
“Five hundred dollars!”
“Sure—that’s what Sheriff Trenholm will give for it and, eh, other information.”
Betty threw back her head and eyed him defiantly. “If you go to the sheriff he will give you what every blackmailer deserves—nothing.” And she replaced the bills in the check folder. Corbin eyed the vanishing money in alarm.
“Don’t be in a hurry!” he exclaimed. “I am a poor man. I’ll take the money—and your word for the rest.” His fingers closed greedily over the Treasury notes as he relinquished the scarf. With a mumbled word, of which Betty was oblivious, he hastened back the way he had come.
Betty stood where she was in indecision. Finally she turned and watched Corbin reënter the woods. Convinced that he was not likely to return she continued on her way toward Upper Marlboro, the scarf safely tucked inside the pocket of her fur coat. She had gone some little distance when she came to an open field and saw, close to the road, in a slight hollow, a huge boulder from which the snow had melted, leaving exposed the dry rock.
Betty’s hesitation was brief. Climbing the fence, she turned her back on the road and placing the scarf on the rock she drew out a silver match box. The first match failed to light, with the second she was more successful, and three minutes later the scarf was a smoldering heap of ashes. Drawing in her breath she blew them off the rock, and with a lighter heart, regained the road just in time to recognize her aunt’s Rolls-Royce approaching, Pierre at the wheel. The recognition was mutual and the powerful car came to a stop. Before the little chauffeur could climb out of his seat the limousine door was swung open and Doctor Nash sprang to Betty’s side, and assisted her into the car.
“Upon my word, Betty!” he exclaimed, at her wet boots. “You are most imprudent!”
“As usual.” A sigh accompanied the words and Doctor Nash turned and scanned her closely. Her brilliant color and the sparkle of her eyes accentuated the haggard lines caused by harassing thoughts and sleepless nights, but did not detract from her beauty. Nash’s critical expression softened and Betty, quick to read his thoughts, laid her hand in his. “I need your help.”
“You can count on me, Betty, always.” Nash spoke with warmth and Betty’s color deepened. She paused, however, before addressing him again.