"These matters have been puzzling me, Miss Hereford. Is it a petty thief that we have in the house, one to crib lace and such trifles; or is it a spy? I have thought it may be both: such a thing is not beyond the bounds of possibility. A person who took Mrs. Penn's lace would not be likely to take my memorandum-book: for _that_ must have been done to pry into my private affairs, or those of the Chandos family: and a spy, aiming at higher game, would keep clear of petty thefts. The taking of Mrs. Penn's letter, I mean the breaking its seal, I do not understand: but, before that was done, I marked some money and put it in my desk; two sovereigns and two half-crowns. They are gone." "You locked the desk afterwards?" "Yes. Now I shall act decisively. Mrs. Penn has thought me very quiet over her loss, I daresay, but I have not seen my way at all clear. I do not, truth to say, see it now." "In what way, sir?" "I cannot reconcile the one kind of loss with the other. Unless we have two false inmates among us. I begin to think it is so. Say nothing at all to any one, Miss Hereford." He wrote a hasty note, directed it, and sealed it with the Chandos coat-of-arms; then ordered his own groom, James, into his presence. "Saddle one of the horses for yourself, James. When you are ready, come round with him, and I will give you directions." The man was soon equipped. He appeared leading the horse. Mr. Chandos went out, and I stood at the open window. "Are you quite ready to go?" "Quite, sir." "Mount then." The servant did as he was bid, and Mr. Chandos continued, putting the note he had written into his hands. "Go straight to Warsall, to the police-station, and deliver this. Do not loiter." James touched his hat, then his horse, and cantered off. Ever since I had seen the police at Mr. Edwin Barley's, at the time of the death of Philip King, I had felt an invincible dread of them; they were always associated in my mind with darkness and terror. The gendarmes in France had not tended to reassure me; with their flashing uniform, their cocked hats, their conspicuous swords, and their fiery horses; but the police there were quite another sort of people, far more harmless than ours. The worst I saw of them was the never-ending warfare they kept up with the servant-maids for being late in washing before the doors in a morning. The cook at Miss Barlieu's, Marie, called them old women, setting them at defiance always: but one day they cited her before the tribunal, and she had to pay a fine of five francs. The police arrived in the afternoon; two, in plain clothes; and Mr. Chandos was closeted with them alone. Then we heard—at least, I did—that the servants' pockets were to be examined, and their boxes searched. I was standing in the hall, looking wistful enough, no doubt, when Mr. Chandos and his two visitors came forth from the drawing-room. "You appear scared," he stayed to say, smiling in my face. "Have no fear."