“Can you let me see the letters?”
“Yes, if you promise not to involve her in any way.”
“Certainly.”
“There are only two.” He put his hand in an inner breast pocket. “And they seem absolutely futile—for purposes of blackmail.”
Babbing nodded. “I was afraid they had not gone far enough.” He glanced at the letters. “I see. Yes. There ’s nothing there.” He returned them. He tilted himself back in his swivel chair, cheerfully at his ease, as if the important part of the interview were over. And with one dimpled hand playing with the paper knife on his desk, and the other hooked into his watch pocket by the thumb, he continued chattily: “These people have been working with a dishonest lawyer in this way: the woman ’s in a position to hear most of the gossip of what our newspapers call ‘the smart set,’ and as soon as she gets a rumor of any marital difficulties she sends such letters as yours to the aggrieved party, anonymously.
