the case, you know."

"I shall not give it back to you," said Agnes in a determined manner.
"It is in my possession and shall remain there. I wish to show it to
Noel."

"And what am I to say to Silver?"

"Whatever you like. You can manage him, you know."

"He'll make trouble."

"Now that he has lost this weapon"--Agnes touched her pocket--"he
can't."

"Well"--Miss Greeby shrugged her big shoulders and stood up--"just as
you please. But it would be best to leave the letter and the case in my
hands."

"I think not," rejoined Agnes decisively. "Noel is now quite well again,
and I prefer him to take charge of the matter himself."

"Is that all the thanks I get for my trouble?"

"My dear Clara," said the other cordially, "I am ever so much obliged to
you for robbing Mr. Silver of this letter. But I don't wish to put you
to any more trouble."

"Just as you please," said Miss Greeby again, and rather sullenly. "I
wash my hands of the business, and if Silver makes trouble you have
only yourself to thank. I advise you also, Agnes, to see Mother
Cockleshell and learn what she has to say."

"Does she know anything?"

"She gave me certain mysterious hints that she did. But she appears to
have a great opinion of you, my dear, so she may be more open with you
than she was with me."

"Where is she to be found?"

"I don't know. Chaldea is queen of the tribe, which is still camped on
the outskirts of Abbot's Wood. Mother Cockleshell has gone away on her
own. Have you any idea who wrote the letter?"

Agnes took out the forged missive again and studied it. "Not in the
least," she said, shaking her head.

"Do you know of any one who can imitate your handwriting?"

"Not that I know--oh," she stopped suddenly and grew as white as the
widow's cap she wore. "Oh," she said blankly.

"What is it?" demanded Miss Greeby, on fire with curiosity. "Have you
thought of any one?"

Agnes shook her head again and placed the letter in her pocket. "I can
think of no one," she said in a low voice.

Miss Greeby did not entirely believe this, as the sudden hesitation and
the paleness hinted at some unexpected thought, probably connected with
the forgery. However, since she had done all she could, it was best, as
she judged, to leave things in the widow's hands. "I'm tired of the
whole business," said Miss Greeby carelessly. "It wouldn't do for me to
be a detective, as I have no staying power, and get sick of things.
Still, if you