Something that will crush and quell her, utterly cure her of those idiotic, school-girl notions of hers, and make her--as she should be--submissive to my will and my demands!" He pondered a moment, an ugly, crafty smile on those old lips of his; then, struck by sudden inspiration, laughed a dry, harsh laugh.
"The very thing!" he exulted, with the mirth of a vulture that has just found a peculiarly revolting mass of carrion.

"Fool that I was, not to have thought of it before!" Hastily he withdrew the letter from the envelope, opened it, and with eager hand wrote three short sentences.

He read these over, nodded approval, and this time sealed and addressed the letter.

Then he pushed an electric button over the desk.
"Have this letter carried to this address at once," he commanded Slawson.

"Mr.Dillon Slade, 432 Highland Avenue, Rutherford, N. J.
See?
Special delivery won't do.