"And what am I to say to Silver?"

"Whatever you like. You can manage him, you know."

"He'll make trouble."

"Now that he has lost this weapon"--Agnes touched her pocket--"he can't."

"Well"--Miss Greeby shrugged her big shoulders and stood up--"just as you please. But it would be best to leave the letter and the case in my hands."

"I think not," rejoined Agnes decisively. "Noel is now quite well again, and I prefer him to take charge of the matter himself."

"Is that all the thanks I get for my trouble?"

"My dear Clara," said the other cordially, "I am ever so much obliged to you for robbing Mr. Silver of this letter. But I don't wish to put you to any more trouble."

"Just as you please," said Miss Greeby again, and rather sullenly. "I wash my hands of the business, and if Silver makes trouble you have only yourself to thank. I advise you also, Agnes, to see Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l and learn what she has to say."

"Does she know anything?"

"She gave me certain mysterious hints that she did. But she appears to have a great opinion of you, my dear, so she may be more open with you than she was with me."

"Where is she to be found?"

"I don't know. Chaldea is queen of the tribe, which is still camped on the outskirts of Abbot's Wood. Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l has gone away on her own. Have you any idea who wrote the letter?"

Agnes took out the forged missive again and studied it. "Not in the least," she said, shaking her head.

"Do you know of any one who can imitate your handwriting?"

"Not that I know--oh," she stopped suddenly and grew as white as the widow's cap she wore. "Oh," she said blankly.

"What is it?" demanded Miss Greeby, on fire with curiosity. "Have you thought of any one?"

Agnes shook her head again and placed the letter in her pocket. "I can think of no one," she said in a low voice.

Miss Greeby did not entirely believe this, as the sudden hesitation and the paleness hinted at some unexpected thought, probably connected with the forgery. However, since she had done all she could, it was best, as she judged, to leave things in the widow's hands. "I'm tired of the whole business," said Miss Greeby carelessly. "It wouldn't do for me to be a detective, as I have no staying power, and get sick of things.

Still, if you want me, you know where to send for me, and at all events I've drawn Silver's teeth."

"Yes, dear; thank you very much," said Agnes mechanically, so the visitor took her leave, wondering what was rendering her hostess so absent-minded. A very persistent thought told her that Agnes had made a discovery in connection with the letter, but since she would not impart that thought there was no more to be said.

When Miss Greeby left the house and was striding down the street, Agnes for the third time took the letter from her pocket and studied every line of the writing. It was wonderfully like her own, she thought again, and yet wondered both at the contents and at the signature. "I should never have written in this way to Noel," she reflected. "And certainly I should never have signed myself 'Agnes Pine' to so intimate a note.

However, we shall see," and with this cryptic thought she placed the letter in her desk.

When Garvington and his wife returned they found Agnes singularly quiet and pale. The little man did not notice this, as he never took any interest in other people's emotions, but his wife asked questions to which she received no answers, and looked at Agnes uneasily, when she saw that she did not eat any dinner to speak of. Lady Garvington was very fond of her kind-hearted sister-in-law, and would have been glad to know what was troubling her. But Agnes kept her worries to herself, and insisted that Jane should go to the pantomime, as she had arranged with some friends instead of remaining at home. But when Garvington moved to leave the drawing-room, after drinking his coffee, his sister detained him.

"I want you to come to the library to write a letter for me, Freddy,"

she said in a tremulous voice.

"Can't you write it yourself?" said Garvington selfishly, as he was in a hurry to get to his club.

"No, dear. I am so tired," sighed Agnes, pa.s.sing her hand across her brow.

"Then you should have kept on Silver as your secretary," grumbled Garvington. "However, if it won't take long, I don't mind obliging you."

He followed her into the library, and took his seat at the writing table. "Who is the letter to?" he demanded, taking up a pen in a hurry.

"To Mr. Jarwin. I want him to find out where Gentilla Stanley is. It's only a formal letter, so write it and sign it on my behalf."

"Like an infernal secretary," sighed Garvington, taking paper and squaring his elbows. "What do you want with old Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l?"

"Miss Greeby was here to-day and told me that the woman knows something about poor Hubert's death."

Garvington's pen halted for a moment, but he did not look round. "What can she possibly know?" he demanded irritably.

"That's what I shall find out when Mr. Jarwin discovers her," said Agnes, who was in a low chair near the fire. "By the way, Freddy, I am sorry you let the Abbot's Wood Cottage to Mr. Silver."

"Why shouldn't I?" growled Garvington, writing industriously. "Noel didn't pay me a pound a week, and Silver does."

"You might have a more respectable tenant," said Agnes scathingly.

"Who says Silver isn't respectable?" he asked, looking round.

"I do, and I have every reason to say so."

"Oh, nonsense!" Garvington began to write again. "Silver was Pine's secretary, and now he's Miss Greeby's. They wouldn't have engaged him unless he was respectable, although he did start life as a pauper toymaker. I suppose that is what you mean, Agnes. I'm surprised at your narrowness."

"Ah, we have not all your tolerance, Freddy. Have you finished that letter?"

"There you are." Garvington handed it over. "You don't want me to address the envelope?"

"Yes, I do," Agnes ran her eyes over the missive; "and you can add a postscript to this, telling Mr. Jarwin he can take my motor to look for Gentilla Stanley if he chooses."

Garvington did as he was asked reluctantly. "Though I don't see why Jarwin can't supply his own motors," he grumbled, "and ten to one he'll only put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the newspapers."

"As if Mother c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l ever saw a newspaper," retorted his sister.

"Oh, thank you, Freddy, you are good," she went on when he handed her the letter in a newly addressed envelope; "no, don't go, I want to speak to you about Mr. Silver."

Garvington threw himself with a growl into a chair. "I don't know anything about him except that he's my tenant," he complained.

"Then it is time you did. Perhaps you are not aware that Mr. Silver tried to blackmail me."

"What?" the little man grew purple and exploded. "Oh, nonsense!"

"It's anything but nonsense." Agnes rose and went to her desk to get the forged letter. "He came to me a long time before Christmas and said that Chaldea found this," she flourished the letter before her brother's eyes, "in Hubert's tent when he was masquerading as Hearne."

"A letter? What does it say?" Garvington stretched out his hand.

Agnes drew back and returned to her seat by the fire. "I can tell you the contents," she said coolly, "it is supposed to be written by me to Noel and makes an appointment to meet him at the blue door on the night of Hubert's death in order to elope."