He passed into the closet, and slowly shooting the bolt--which, for want of something better, happened to be an old blunted dagger--walked, with his cap yet unmoved, slowly up to the table, and beheld the letters. They were lying with their sealed sides up; one in either hand, he lifted them; and held them straight out sideways from him.
"I see not the writing; know not yet, by mine own eye, that they are meant for me; yet, in these hands I feel that I now hold the final poniards that shall stab me; and by stabbing me, make me too a most swift stabber in the recoil. Which point first?--this!"
He tore open the left-hand letter:--
"SIR:--You are a swindler. Upon the pretense of writing a popular novel for us, you have been receiving cash advances from us, while passing through our press t
