"Now what miserable cur could have written all of that rot!" exclaimed Villard.
"Point out all that is in error and I'll change the report. We must keep up our records," said Updyke, sharply, with a wave of his hand. "There isn't a chance in the world that this record will be observed by any one not connected with our office. I give nothing out on death notices, or biographies."
"Then for what purpose?" demanded Villard.
"Oh, if you became a crook, or went crazy, we would be queried by certain interests. We ask no favors. This business is mine. I made it what it is, and it's worth a million as it stands. If I was crooked I could say it's worth a hundred million."
"God—what a power you hold! In case of your death, what a cruel use could be made of those leaves from your records! What a chance for certain slimy little blackmailing publications!"
"My body will be cremated, and with it my books of record. That's part of my will. Now I'm going to ease your mind—you have the page containing the facts about you. It is the only copy on earth. The notes from which it was made up have been destroyed. If you desire I will destroy the page in your presence, right now," proffered Updyke.
Villard was astonished at the proposal.
"I wouldn't care one way or the other, if it wasn't for——"
"Yes, I know," responded Updyke, "you're thinking of the dead. You don't want her name bandied about."