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He was making out a cheque to the Earl of Rochester for the sum of eight thousand pounds, no shillings, no pence.

He signed it A. S. Voles.

He was about to cross it, but Jones stopped him. “Leave it open,” said he, “and now one thing more, I must have those papers to-morrow morning without fail. And to make certain of them you must do this.”

He went to the bureau and took a sheet of note paper, which he laid before the other.

“Write,” said he. “I will dictate. Begin June 2nd.”

Voles put the date.

“‘My Lord,’” went on the dictator. “‘This is to promise you that to-morrow morning I will hand to the messenger you send to me all the papers of yours in my possession. I confess to having held those papers over you for the purpose of blackmail, and of having obtained from you the sum of eight thousand pounds, and I promise to amend my ways, and to endeavour to lead an honest life.

Signed. A. S. Voles.’“ To The Earl of Rochester.

That was the letter.

Three times the rogue at the table refused to go on writing, and three times his master went to the door, the rattle of the door handle always inspiring the scribe to renewed energy.