Herrick, never very eloquent, was stricken dumb. "Sit down, won't you?" was as much as he could ask his guests. The letter ran—
"The Arm of Justice suggests to Miss Christina Hope that she exert her well-known powers of fascination to persuade the Ingham family into paying the Arm of Justice its ten thousand dollars. Miss Hope need not work for nothing, nor even in order to avert an accusation against which she doubtless feels secure. But the Arm of Justice has in its possession a secret which Miss Hope would give much to know. She may learn what that secret is, and how it may be negotiated if she will hang this white ribbon out of the window wherever she may be dining on Monday. She will receive a communication at once."
"Exactly!" said Kane, as though in triumph. "For such swells as the Arms of Justice it's about dinner-time now. Would you oblige me, Miss Hope, by tying the ribbon out of the window? Show yourself as clearly as possible. All the lights, please."
As Christina stepped to the window, he added, "I'm trusting they didn't recognize us as we came in. It's pretty dark."
They waited. The three men were strung to a high degree of expectation.
"But it's all so silly!" Christina said. The call of the telephone shrilled through the room.
"Miss Hope?" Herrick asked. "Yes, she's here."
Then they heard Christina answering, "Yes, yes, it's Miss Hope. I hear. I understand. I'll be there." She hung up the receiver and turned round. "The Park. To-morrow. At ten in the morning. The bench under the squirrel's house at the top of the hill beyond the Hundred-and-tenth Street entrance. And be sure to come alone." She sat down, staring at Kane.
He said, "Excuse me!" and went to the 'phone. "Boy! Did that party ask for Miss Hope in the first place? All right. That's queer. They asked for Mr. Herrick's apartment."
"They knew I was living here? Why, I only moved in this morning."