contrary to my advice, embarked in perfect wild-cat affairs, which ended in our—I say 'our' here—getting severely scratched and mauled. Altogether you have frittered away £30,000, and have placed the remaining ten in a venture which to my mind is as wild as all the rest of your unfortunate ventures. These speculations have, almost without exception, been choices of your own, not mine. That was one of the reasons why I said 'you,' not 'we.'"

He paused a moment.

"Another reason is," he said, "because without any exception the transactions have taken place on your advice and in your name, not in mine."

That was a sufficiently meaning statement, but Mills did not wish his partner to be under any misapprehension as to what he implied.

"In other words," he said, "I can deny absolutely all knowledge of the whole of those operations."

Mr. Taynton gave a sudden start, as if the significance of this had only this moment dawned on him, as if he had not understood the first statement. Then he seemed to collect himself.

"You can hardly do that," he said, "as I hold letters of yours which imply such knowledge."

Mills smiled rather evilly.

"Ah, it is not worth while bluffing," he said. "I have never written such a letter to you. You know it. Is it likely I should?"

Mr. Taynton apparently had no reply to this. But he had a question to ask.

"Why are you taking up this hostile and threatening attitude?"

"I have not meant to be hostile, and I have certainly not threatened," replied Mills. "I have put before you, quite dispassionately I hope, certain facts. Indeed I should say it was you who had threatened in the matter of those letters, which, unhappily, have never existed at all. I will proceed.

"Now what has been my part in this affair? I have observed you lost money in speculations of which I disapproved, but you always knew best. I have advanced money to you before now to tide over embarrassments that would otherwise have been disastrous. By the exercise of diplomacy—or lying—yesterday, I averted a very grave danger. I point out to you also that there is nothing to implicate me in these—these fraudulent employments of a client's money. So I ask, where I come in? What do I get by it?"

Mr. Taynton's hands were trembling as he fumbled at some papers on his desk.

"You know quite well that we are to share all profits?" he said.

"Yes, but at present there have not been any. I have been, to put it plainly, pulling you out of holes. And I think—I think my trouble ought to be remunerated. I sincerely hope you will take that view also. Or shall I remind you again that there is nothing in the world to connect me with these, well, frauds?"

Mr. Taynton got up from his chair, strolled across to the window where he drew down the blind a little, so as to shut out the splash of sunlight that fell on his table.

"You have been betting again, I suppose," he asked quietly.

"Yes, and have been unfortunate. Pray do not trouble to tell me again how foolish it is to gamble like that. You may be right. I have no doubt you are right. But I think one has as much right to gamble with one's own money as to do so with the money of other people."

This apparently seemed unanswerable; anyhow Mr. Taynton made no reply.
Then, having excluded the splash of sunlight he sat down again.

"You have not threatened, you tell me," he said, "but you have pointed out to me that there is no evidence that you have had a hand in certain transactions. You say that I know you have helped me in these transactions; you say you require remuneration for your services. Does not that, I ask, imply a threat? Does it not mean that you are blackmailing me? Else why should you bring these facts—I do not dispute them—to my notice? Supposing I refuse you remuneration?"

Mills had noted the signs of agitation and anxiety. He felt that he was on safe ground. The blackmailer lives entirely on the want of courage in his victims.

"You will not, I hope, refuse me remuneration," he said. "I have not threatened you yet, because I feel sure you will be wise. I might, of course, subsequently threaten you."

Again there was silence. Mr. Taynton had picked up a quill pen, the same with which he had been writing before, for the nib was not yet dry.

"The law is rather severe on blackmailers," he remarked.

"It is. Are you going to bring an action against me for blackmail? Will not that imply the re-opening of—of certain ledgers, which we agreed last night had better remain shut?"

Again there was silence. There was a completeness in this reasoning which rendered comment superfluous.

"How much do you want?" asked Mr. Taynton.

Mills was not so foolish as to "breathe a sigh of relief." But he noted with satisfaction that there was no sign of fight in his adversary and partner.

"I want two thousand pounds," he said, "at once."

"That is a large sum."

"It is. If it were a small sum I should not trouble you."

Mr. Taynton again got up and strayed aimlessly about the room.

"I can't give it you to-day," he said. "I shall have to sell out some stock."

"I am not unreasonable about a reasonable delay," said Mills.

"You are going to town this afternoon?"

"Yes, I must. There is a good deal of work to be done. It will take me all to-morrow."

"And you will be back the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes, I shall be back here that night, that is to say, I shall not get away from town till the afternoon. I should like your definite answer then, if it is not inconvenient. I could come and see you that night, the day after to-morrow—if you wished."

Mr. Taynton thought over this with his habitual deliberation.

"You will readily understand that all friendly relations between us are quite over," he said. "You have done a cruel and wicked thing, but I don't see how I can resist it. I should like, however, to have a little further talk about it, for which I have not time now."

Mills rose.

"By all means," he said. "I do not suppose I shall be back here till nine in the evening. I have had no exercise lately, and I think very likely I shall get out of the train at Falmer, and walk over the downs."

Mr. Taynton's habitual courtesy came to his aid. He would have been polite to a thief or a murderer, if he met him socially.

"Those cool airs of the downs are very invigorating." he said. "I will not expect you therefore till half past nine that night. I shall dine at home, and be alone."

"Thanks. I must be going. I shall only just catch my train to town."

Mills nodded a curt gesture of farewell, and left the room, and when he had gone Mr. Taynton sat down again in the chair by the table, and remained there some half hour. He knew well the soundness of his partner's reasoning; all he had said was fatally and abominably true. There was no way out of it. Yet to pay money to a blackmailer was, to the legal mind, a confession of guilt. Innocent people, unless they were abject fools, did not pay blackmail. They prosecuted the blackmailer. Yet here, too, Mills's simple reasoning held good. He could not prosecute the blackmailer, since he was not in the fortunate position of being innocent. But if you paid a blackmailer once, you were for ever in his power. Having once yielded, it was necessary