“You may think it’s because you’re making a wad of money that I’m trying to get you back! That’s all right, too; I’m glad you are on easy street. I need money, but not much.
“It’s you I want. And whatever you say or think, I was in love with you when I married you. I had to beat it. It drove me almost crazy to leave you. Two years in prison drove me crazier. I’ve been sick. I’m sick now. I’ll get well if you take me back.... And if you won’t——” He came closer, looking intently into her eyes: “If you won’t—well, there’s one man who isn’t ever going to get you, Eris.... And his name’s Albert Smull.... And the next time I find him loafing around you, you’d better kiss him good-bye. For, by Jesus, I’ll fix him good!”
The girl seated herself on the arm of a chair. Her head was reeling a little, but she kept it high.
“How much money do you want?” she asked.
“I need that, too. I’ll take twenty-five dollars if you can spare it. And I’d like a cheque with it. You’re making good money: I guess five hundred won’t crimp you.”
Her silk reticule still lay on the sofa where she had flung it the night before. She picked it up, took from it the money he required, and handed it to him.
Her cheque-book was in her desk. Seating herself she opened it and wrote out the amount he had demanded, blotted the strip of yellow paper, gave it to him.
“Now,” she said, “I’ve paid you to keep away from me until I free myself. After that the police can take care of you if you annoy me.”
He smiled: “When you consult your attorney you’ll realise that you have no witnesses and no case, little lady.”
“I need only one witness,” she said.