David Hunter got up.

"I've got an answer for you. Go to the devil."

Unperturbed, Arden said, smiling:

"Yes, I thought you'd say that."

"You're a damned blackmailer, neither more nor less. I've a good mind to call your bluff."

"Publish and be damned? An admirable sentiment. But you wouldn't like it if I did 'publish.' Not that I shall. If you won't buy, I've another market."

"What do you mean?"

"The Cloades. Suppose I go to them. 'Excuse me, but would you be interested to learn that the late Robert Underhay is very much alive?'

Why, man, they'll jump at it!"

David said scornfully:

"You won't get anything out of them. They're broke, every one of them."

"Ah, but there's such a thing as a working arrangement. So much in cash on the day it's proved that Underhay is alive, that Mrs Gordon Cloade is still Mrs Robert Underhay and that consequently Gordon Cloade's will, made before his marriage is good in law..."

For some few minutes David sat silent, then he asked bluntly:

"How much?"

The answer came as bluntly:

"Twenty thousand."

"Out of the question! My sister can't touch the capital, she's only got a life interest."

"Ten thousand, then. She can raise that, easily. There's jewellery, isn't there?"

David sat silent, then he said unexpectedly:

"All right."

For a moment the other man seemed at a loss. It was as though the ease of his victory surprised him.

"No cheques," he said. "To be paid in notes!"

"You'll have to give us time - to get hold of the money."

"I'll give you forty-eight hours."

"Make it next Tuesday."

"All right. You'll bring the money here." He added before David could speak. "I'm not meeting you at a lonely copse - or a deserted river bank, so don't you think so. You'll bring the money here - to the Stag - at nine o'clock next Tuesday evening."

"Suspicious sort of chap, aren't you?"

"I know my way about. And I know your kind."

"As you said, then."

David went out of the room and down the stairs. His face was black with rage.

Beatrice Lippincott came out of the room marked No. 4. There was a communicating door between 4 and 5, though the fact could hardly be noted by an occupant in 5 since a wardrobe stood upright in front of it.

Miss Lippincott's cheeks were pink and her eyes bright with pleasurable excitement.

She smoothed back her pompadour of hair with an agitated hand.

Chapter 10

Shepherd's Court, Mayfair, was a large block of luxury service flats. Unharmed by the ravages of enemy action, they had nevertheless been unable to keep up quite their pre-war standard of ease.

There was service still, although not very good service. Where there had been two uniformed porters there was now only one. The restaurant still served meals, but except for breakfast, meals were not sent up to the apartments.

The flat rented by Mrs Gordon Cloade was on the third floor. It consisted of a sitting-room with a built-in cocktail bar, two bedrooms with built-in cupboards, and a superbly appointed bathroom, gleaming with tiles and chromium.