"And you were a widower," said Nick quietly. "I know it. Cora Reesey deceived you."
Gabriel Leonard's expression of astonishment at this statement was speedily succeeded by one of anguish. He licked his lips, and looked toward the wall with eyes contracted in pain.
"Deceived me, did she?" he muttered brokenly. "What a fool, what a fool I have been!"
Nick Carter's cool gaze recalled Leonard to the work of explanation which he had undertaken to do.
"Where was I? Oh, yes, I remember."
He spoke with his eyes on the floor. The slight buoyancy with which he had begun his story was gone. His words now came slowly and gravely.
"I wrote to the woman that it might be well for her to come to St. Louis. She acted upon the suggestion and came. At our first interview she demanded fifteen thousand dollars as the price of her silence. I did not have the money. My affairs, within one week, had become badly involved. Some speculative ventures had proved utter failures. But all attempts to induce the woman to wait were unavailing. She did not believe me when I told her that I was on the brink of ruin, and she threatened that if I did not have the money on a certain night, to go the next day to a newspaper office, tell her story, and produce her vouchers. The night set for the payment of the fifteen thousand dollars was the night of the disappearance of John Dashwood."
Leonard ceased speaking, went to the water-cooler in a corner, drew a glass of water, drank it, and then returned to the bed.
"I went up-town that night," he continued, "without any definite thought of what I should do. In front of the office the thought struck me that perhaps there might be sufficient money in the safe—receipts after banking-hours—to stop the woman's mouth for a few days. I had promised to meet her at midnight at her rooms in an apartment-house on Manchester Avenue. She had said that she would give me all day for the work of digging up the money, and the day would end at twelve o'clock. I went to the office, and, after opening the door and striking a light, saw by the open desk and the open books that some one, probably Filbon, had been there that evening.
"Upon one of the books lay a folded note addressed to me. It was from John Dashwood, and it informed me that I had been robbed and that Dashwood, having recovered the stolen money, twenty thousand dollars, had placed it in his pocket for safe-keeping. Imagine my feelings, if you can. Twenty thousand dollars! I did not think of my creditors then, but of Cora Reesey. Here was money with which I could pay her, silence her mouth forever. I must find Dashwood. He had gone to seek Filbon, who would probably be found at home. Hurriedly I left the office, found a car and got to Filbon's house, to discover that the lights were out. I went around the house softly, listened carefully at doors and windows, but could hear nothing. I might have aroused Mrs. Filbon, but I did not think it would be of any use. Besides, I did not wish to disturb her, unless it should be absolutely necessary to do so.