can see that for myself." Chloe's voice was low. "But to be
quite candid, I don't see how it would be possible to bring the letters
home to Tochatti. To begin with, she can't write."

"Or pretends she can't. You must remember, Mrs. Carstairs, we have only
the woman's own word for that."

"I certainly never remember seeing her with a pen in her hand," said
Chloe, "though of course that's no real proof. But if this horrible idea
is correct how are you going to prove it? You don't intend to tackle
Tochatti herself, I suppose?"

"Not for the world," said Anstice hastily. "That would be a fatal
mistake. A woman who is clever enough to carry on an intrigue of this
kind without incurring suspicion is sufficiently clever to answer any
direct questioning satisfactorily. No. If Tochatti is the culprit--mind
you I only say if--she must be caught with guile, made to commit herself
somehow, or be taken red-handed in the act----" He broke off suddenly;
and the other two looked at him in surprise.

"Well, Anstice, what's struck you now?" Sir Richard's tone was eager.

"Only this. Is your writing-table always open to access, Mrs. Carstairs?
I mean, you don't lock up your ink and pens, and so on?"

"No," she said, catching the drift of his questions at once. "Anyone in
the house could sit down here to write and be sure of finding everything
at hand."

"Just so--and unless the person who wrote was considerate enough to use
the blotting-paper you would not know anyone had touched your things."

"No--unless they were left strewn untidily about."

"Which they would not be. Now, Mrs. Carstairs, to speak quite plainly,
what is there to prevent Tochatti, or any other member of your
household, creeping downstairs at the dead of night and making use of
those pens and sheets of paper which you so obligingly leave about for
anyone to play with?"

"Nothing," she said with a smile. "But unless you propose that I should
sit up behind the curtains all night to see if some mysterious person
does creep down----"

"That's just what I was going to propose," he said coolly. "At least I
wasn't suggesting that you should be the person; but you might allow
someone else to sit there on your behalf. You see, if Tochatti is really
the mysterious writer she would not like to run the risk of keeping pens
and ink in her own room where some prying eyes might light upon them
sooner or later. It would be much less incriminating to use another
person's to