was no copy.

"Do you know what might happen?" he asked. "The only cipher that
has puzzled me for the last ten years might be lost--or
stolen--or burned if there was a fire in the house. You deserve
to be punished for your carelessness. Make the copy yourself."

This desirable suggestion (uncivilly as it was expressed) had its
effect upon Mrs. Westerfield. Her marriage depended on that
precious slip of paper. She was confirmed in her opinion that
this very disagreeable man might nevertheless be a man to be
trusted.

"Shall you be long in finding out what it means?" she asked when
her task was completed.

He carefully compared the copy with the original--and then he
replied:

"Days may pass before I can find the clew; I won't attempt it
unless you give me a week."

She pleaded for a shorter interval. He coolly handed back her
papers; the original and the copy.

"Try somebody else," he suggested--and opened his book again.
Mrs. Westerfield yielded with the worst possible grace. In
granting him the week of delay, she approached the subject of his
fee for the second time. "How much will it cost me?" she
inquired.