as pinned up
under a big apron. At sight of me she jumped, and almost dropped a pan
of meal; but even the most innocent person is entitled to jump! She
recovered herself quickly, and called up the ghost of a welcoming
smile--such a smile as may decently decorate the face of a newly made
widow.

"Why, Miss--Princess!" she exclaimed. "This is a surprise. If anything
could make me happy in my sad affliction it would be a visit from you.
My nephews are out fishing--they're very fond of fishing, poor
boys!--but come in and let me give you a cup of tea."

"I will come in," I said, "because I must have a talk with you, but I
don't want tea. And, really, Mrs. Barlow, I wonder you have the _cheek_
to speak of your 'sad affliction.'"

By this time I was already over the threshold, and in the kitchen, for
she had stood aside for me to pass. Just inside the door I turned on
her, and saw the old face--once so freshly apple-cheeked--flush darkly,
then fade to yellow. Her eyes stared into mine, wavered, and dropped;
but no tears came.

"'Cheek?'" she repeated, as if reproving slang. "Miss--Princess--I don't
know what you mean."

"I think you know very well," I said, "because you have _no_ 'sad
affliction.' Your husband is as much alive as I am. The only loss you've
suffered is the loss of the coffin in which he _wasn't_ buried!"

The woman dropped, like a jelly out of its mould, into a kitchen chair.
"My Heavens! Miss Elizabeth, you don't know what you're saying!" she
gasped, dry-lipped.

"I know quite well," I caught her up. "And to show that I know, I'm
going to reconstruct the whole plot." (This was bluff. But it was part
of the Plan). "Barlow's nephews were expert thieves. They'd served a
term for stealing at home, in Australia. They spent a short leave at
Courtenaye Coombe, and you showed them over the Abbey. Then and there
they got an idea. They bribed you and Barlow to help them carry it out
and give them a letter of mine to tear into bits and turn suspicion on
me. Probably they worked with rubber gloves and shoes--as you know the
detectives have found no fingermarks or footprints. Every man is said to
have his price. You two had yours! Just how much more than others you
knew about old secret 'hidie-holes' in the Abbey I can't tell, but I'm
sure you did know more than any of us. There was always the lodge, too,
which was the same as your own, and full of your things! I'm practically
certain there's a secret way to it,