"Yours."
Benson got up from his chair and crossed over to him. "What is this?" he asked, quietly. "Blackmail?"
"Call it what you like," said Carr. "I've got some letters for sale, price fifteen hundred. And I know a man who would buy them at that price for the mere chance of getting Olive from you. I'll give you first offer."
"If you have got any letters bearing my signature, you will be good enough to give them to me," said Benson, very slowly.
"They're mine," said Carr, lightly; "given to me by the lady you wrote them to. I must say that they are not all in the best possible taste."
His cousin reached forward suddenly, and catching him by the collar of his coat pinned him down on the table.
"Give me those letters," he breathed, sticking his face close to Carr's.
"They're not here," said Carr, struggling. "I'm not a fool. Let me go, or I'll raise the price."
The other man raised him from the table in his powerful hands, apparently with the intention of dashing his head against it. Then suddenly his hold relaxed as an astonished-looking maid-servant entered the room with letters. Carr sat up hastily.
"That's how it was done," said Benson, for the girl's benefit as he took the letters.