And at last, after a lot of thinking, as I walked about in the dusk, it struck me that Crone might be for taking a hand in the game of which I had heard, but had never seen played--blackmail.
The more I thought over that idea, the more I felt certain of it.

His hints about Sir Gilbert's money and his wealthy wife, his advice to wait until we knew more, all seemed to point to this--that evidence might come out which would but require our joint testimony, Crone's and mine, to make it complete.

If that were so, then, of course, Crone or I, or--as he probably designed--the two of us, would be in a position to go to Sir Gilbert Carstairs and tell him what we knew, and ask him how much he would give us to hold our tongues.

I saw all the theory of it at last, clear enough, and it was just what I would have expected of Abel Crone, knowing him even as little as I did.

Wait until we were sure--and then strike! That was his game.