Say that you are speaking for Miss Abbeway, and ask Mr.Furley, Mr.Cross, or whoever is there, to come at once to this address." "Look here, there's no sense in that," Fenn interrupted.
"Will you do as I ask, please, Robert ?" she persisted.
The man bowed and left the room.

Fenn strode sulkily back to the desk.
"Very well, then," he conceded, "I give in.

Give me the key, and I'll show you the letter." "You intend to keep your word ?" "I do," he assured her.
She held out the key.

He took it, opened the desk, searched amongst the little pile of papers, drew out the half-sheet of notepaper, and handed it to her.
"There you are," he said, "although if you are really engaged to marry Mr.Julian Orden," he added, with disagreeable emphasis, "I am surprised that he should have kept such a secret from you." She ignored him and started to read the letter, glancing first at the address at the top.

It was from the British Review, and was dated a few days back: My dear Orden, I think it best to let you know, in case you haven't seen it yourself, that there is a reward of 100 pounds offered by some busybody for the name of the author of the `Paul Fiske' articles.