so particular at Somerset House, the fact may help us. When
those deed stamps are sold to the public, are the numbers taken, and all
that?"

"So I understand. But what do you want to get at? Yes, I think you are
right."

"Anyway, I'm on the right track," Field cried. "If what I ask is a fact,
then the people at the sub-office will be able to tell me the date that
parchment was sold. I see there is a number on the stamp. If I take that
to Somerset House----"

Field spent half an hour at Somerset House, and then he took a cab to
Wandsworth. He stopped at the Inland Revenue Office there and sent in
his card. Giving a brief outline of what he wanted to the clerk, he
laid down his slip of paper with the number of the stamp on it and the
date, and merely asked to know when that was sold and to whom.

He watched the clerk vaguely as he turned over his book. It seemed a
long time before any definite result was arrived at. Then the clerk
looked over his glasses.

"I fancy I've got what you want," he said. "What is the number on your
paper?"

"44791," Field said, "and the date."

"Never mind dates, that is quite immaterial, Mr. Field. You have us now.
That stamped parchment was sold early this morning, just after the
office was open--why, I must have sold it myself. Yes; there is no
mistake."

With a grim smile on his face, Field drove back to London. He began to
see his way clearer to the end of the mystery now.

CHAPTER XXIX

The cab with Mary Sartoris inside jolted along behind the other one, and
presently Mary was greatly relieved to find that her horse was going the
faster of the two. She bitterly blamed herself now for her folly in not
waiting to see Beatrice, and still more so for trusting so important a
letter in the hands of a mere servant.

But it was idle to repine over the thing now. The mischief had been done
and the great thing was to repair it as soon as possible. As Mary's mind
emerged from the haze in which it had been enveloped for the last few
days, she began to see things more clearly. Now she realised that she
had no settled plan of action when she set out to see Beatrice. She
would have had to tell her everything or nothing had they met, and she
could not have done this without making certain disclosures about her
brother. She saw now that it would have been far better to have
destroyed the letter and said nothing about it.

But then Mary could not tell a deliberate lie of that kind,