You
see, that was yesterday. To-day this letter came along," he added,
laying down a second very dirty and wrinkled note beside the
first. It was quite patently written by a different person from
the first; its purport was different, indeed quite the opposite of
the other. "It was sent to Mrs. Phelps," explained Andrews, "and
she gave it out herself to the police."
Do not show this to the police. Unless you leave $5000 in gold
in the old stump in the swamp across from the cemetery, you
will have reason to regret it. If you respect the memory of
the dead, do this, and do it quietly.
BLACK HAND.
"Well," I ejaculated, "that's cool. What threat would be used to
back this demand on the Phelpses?"
"Here's the situation," resumed Andrews, puffing violently on his
inevitable cigar and toying with the letters and clippings. "We
have already held up payment of the half-million dollars of
insurance to the widow as long as we can consistently do so. But
we must pay soon, scandal or not, unless we can get something more
than mere conjecture.
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