Mail at the office ready to be distributed at a signal from me. Think, sir! Newsboys on the street with that story at the very moment when your daughter becomes Lady Harrowby."
"I see," said Meyrick slowly. "Blackmail."
Manuel Gonzale shuddered in horror.
"Oh, I beg of you," he protested. "That is hardly it. A business proposition, I should call it. It happens that the men back of the Star Publishing Company, which issues the Mail, have grown tired of the newspaper game in San Marco. They are desirous of closing out the plant at once—say this morning. It occurs to them that you might be very glad to purchase the Mail—before the next edition goes on the street."
"You're a clever little dog," said Meyrick, through his teeth.
"You are not exactly complimentary. However—let us say for the argument—you buy the Mail at once. I am, by the way, empowered to make the sale. You take charge. You hurry to the office. You destroy all copies of to-day's issue so far printed. You give orders to the com-
