—warns Mr. James Ingham that it demands ten thousand dollars. ("By George!") If Mr. Ingham wisely decides to grant this application, he will tie the enclosed ribbon to the frame work of his awning on the afternoon of August fourth, at four o'clock. It will be seen by an agent of the Society, who will then advise Mr. Ingham as to how and where the money may be paid. If Mr. Ingham decides against the application, he will do nothing.
But in that case he must be prepared for the publication of a paragraph in the Voice of Justice, beginning—"There has recently come to light an episode in the career of Mr. James Ingham, the well-known publisher, eldest son of Robert Ingham of Springfield and New York, who is engaged to be married to the popular actress, Christina Hope—"
It will go on to relate the story of his association with a young, pure and helpless girl eight years ago; how he betrayed her, and, after a promise of marriage—she being then destitute—abandoned her. It will tell this girl's name and where she is. It will give all names in connection with the affair. It will publish letters that passed between Mr. Ingham and this young girl, corroborating the worst that has been said.
Mr. Ingham knows the standards of society, the reputation, the probity and the justice of his father, and also the temper of Miss Christina Hope. Mr. Ingham is the best judge of whether or not it will be wise to pay for silence.
"That's all!" exclaimed Stanley Ingham, as if the absence of signature were really remarkable. "Well, how's that! Poor old chap, you know—how dare they!" He reddened. "Because, hang it all, of course a man has to be a man, and you've got to be liberal-minded and all that; but, just the same, a fellow that would do what that thing says—why, he'd be regularly rotten! You can't deny it, he'd be rotten."
Herrick sat dumb. Words of Christina's were passing in his mind.—"I will never tell you the cause of our quarrel. It was simply something monstrous which happened a long time ago." Because he had to say something, he said—"And you're taking this in to the police?"
"Yes. Isn't it a mercy Jim didn't destroy it? Meant it for the detectives himself, I dare say. Perhaps his not hanging out that piece of ribbon didn't have anything to do with his death. And perhaps it did. Anyhow, wait a bit—I'm a walking post-office this morning. Here's the last exhibit!" And he plumped down on Herrick's knee the duplicate of the typewritten envelope. The postmark, however, was dated August ninth, and it was directed to Ingham senior.
"It opened with the same formalities, but this time its threat ran—
"The Voice will relate the actual circumstances connected with the death of Mr. James Ingham—"
"Jove!" cried Herrick, "that would be something!"
"Wait till you read 'em!"
"It will not pause after the story of the young girl whom Ingham abandoned years ago. It will tell how, on the eve of his departure for Europe, just such a story was reënacted, but this time with a close friend of his intended bride, an actress named Ann Cornish; who, on his return, appealed to him for the only reparation in his power; even slandering her friend Christina Hope in the attempt to win him back. Failing in this, she fled, and disappeared—perhaps destroyed herself. It will tell how Miss Hope suspected the intrigue, having quarreled about it with her lover the day before, when he denied all knowledge of Nancy Cornish; how, suspecting an appointment for the evening instead of the afternoon of August fourth, Miss Hope disguised herself in a red wig and dabs of paint about her eyes and penetrated to Ingham's apartment; how, finding no one there, she was placated until she spied Nancy Cornish's card on the piano and how then a terrible quarrel arose; the excitable young woman, springing in front of the window with her arm outstretched, the fingers slowly spreading and stiffening in the air, uttered a terrible, low cry, and snatching up Ingham's revolver from the table at the head of the couch, shot him dead. It will follow the flight of Miss Hope exactly as she described it at the inquest—out through the door which Ingham must have bolted behind her. She ran upstairs and escaped over the roof into the apartment house next door. It was a terribly hot night, and, against all rules, the roof-doors of both apartment houses had been fastened back. Miss Hope came quietly downstairs, passed through an entrance hall, empty of the boy who had run to join the crowd in the street, and walked away. This will be the conclusion of the narrative."