It began as a joke. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. “It is very nice of you to come, but I do not think for the present, at any rate, I could give him any other answer. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. But we can’t help noticing.
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