“Show him up,” the supposed detective said.
The butler turned on his heel to obey, and if Green-eye Gordon grinned behind his back, his face was serious enough in expression as the ex-senator nervously entered and closed the door behind him.
In the few hours that had passed since he had received the threatening letter, a great change had come over this man, whose name was known from one end of the country to the other. It was plain that he had not slept, and there were heavy, loose bags of skin under his eyes. His face was almost gray in hue.
“I feared that you would feel compelled to come here before long, senator,” the impostor said gravely.
“Then you know?” his visitor asked, in surprise.
“Yes,” Gordon answered. “Some one knows the facts in regard to—well, we need not go into the case—and is attempting to blackmail you.”
Phelps sank into a chair and drew a sheet of paper from his pocket.
“The infernal scoundrel demands one hundred and fifty thousand—no less!” he said hoarsely. “It isn’t so much the money, but I—I naturally assumed that you alone held my secret.”
Green Eye rose to his feet, and his face was very solemn.