ormed a firm theory, but I have about Sir James Courtenaye. I
would not have ventured even to mention it, however, if you had not
drawn me out, for it is indirectly concerned with the case."

"Directly or indirectly, I wish to know it," I insisted. "And as you're
in my employ, I think I have the right."

"Very well, madam, you shall know it--later," he said.

CHAPTER IV

THE BLACK THING IN THE SEA

I went back to Bath, and Mrs. Percy-Hogge; but I no longer felt that I
was enjoying a rest cure. Right or wrong, I had the impression of being
_watched_. I was sure that Sir James Courtenaye had put detectives "on
my track," in the hope that I might be caught communicating with my
hired bravos or the wicked receiver of my stolen goods. In other days
when a man stared or turned to gaze after me, I had attributed the
attention to my looks; now I jumped to the conviction that he was a
detective. And in fact, I began to jump at anything--or nothing.

It was vain for Mrs. Carstairs (who ran down to Bath, after I'd written
her a wild letter) to guarantee that even an enemy--(which she vowed Sir
James _wasn't_!)--could rake up no shred of evidence against me, with
the exception of the torn letter. She couldn't deny that, materially
speaking, it _would_ be a "good haul" for me to sell the heirlooms, and
obtain also the insurance money. But then, I hadn't done it, and nobody
could accuse me of doing it, because no one knew the things were gone.
Oh, well, _yes_! Some detectives knew; and the poor old Barlows had
bitter cause to know. A few others, too, including Sir James Courtenaye.
None of them _counted_, however, because none of them would talk.

Mrs. Carstairs said it was absurd of me to imagine that Sir James was
having me watched. But imagination and not advice had the upper hand of
my nerves; and, seeing this, she prescribed a change of air.

"I meant Mrs. Percy-Hogge only for a stop-gap," she explained. "You've
squeezed her into Society now; and for yourself, you've come to the time
when you can lighten your mourning. I've waited for that, to start you
on your new job. You'll go what my cook calls 'balmy on the crumpet' if
you keep fancying every queer human being you meet in Milsom Street a
detective on your track. The best thing for you is, not to _have_ a
track! And the way to manage that, is to be at _sea_."

I was at sea--figuratively--till Mrs. Carstairs explained more. She
recalled to my mind what she ha