Greeby nodded. "Exactly, and so I'm indulging in the novelty. One
must do something to entertain one's self, you know, Lambert. It struck
me that the gypsies know a lot more about the matter than they chose to
say, so I came down yesterday, and put up at the Garvington Arms in the
village. Here I'm going to stay until I can get at the root of the
matter."

"What root?"

"I wish to learn who murdered Pine, poor devil."

"Ah," Lambert smiled. "You wish to gain the reward."

"Not me. I've got more money than I know what to do with, as it is.
Silver is more anxious to get the cash than I am."

"Silver! Have you seen him lately?"

"A couple of days ago," Miss Greeby informed him easily. "He's my
secretary now, Lambert. Yes! The poor beast was chucked out of his
comfortable billet by the death of Pine, and hearing that I wanted some
one to write my letters and run my errands, and act like a tame cat
generally, he applied to me. Since I knew him pretty well through Pine,
I took him on. He's a cunning little fox, but all right when he's kept
in order. And I find him pretty useful, although I've only had him as a
secretary for a fortnight."

Lambert did not immediately reply. The news rather amazed him, as it had
always been Miss Greeby's boast that she could manage her own business.
It was queer that she should have changed her mind in this respect,
although she was woman enough to exercise that very feminine
prerogative. But the immediate trend of Lambert's thoughts were in the
direction of seeking aid from his visitor. He could not act himself
because he was sick, and he knew that she was a capable person in
dealing with difficulties. Also, simply for the sake of something to do
she had become an amateur detective and was hunting for the trail of
Pine's assassin. It seemed to Lambert that it would not be a bad idea to
tell her of his troubles. She would, as he knew, be only too willing to
assist, and in that readiness lay his hesitation. He did not wish, if
possible, to lie under any obligation to Miss Greeby lest she should
demand in payment that he should become her husband. And yet he believed
that by this time she had overcome her desires in this direction. To
make sure, he ventured on a few cautious questions.

"We're friends, aren't we, Clara?" he asked, after a long pause.

"Sure," said Miss Greeby, nodding heartily. "Does it need putting into
words?"

"I suppose not, but what I mean is that we are pals."