"Have you?" said Mr. Chandos. "I wrote to him this afternoon. What does he say?" Mr. Dexter took a letter from his pocket-book, and put it into his master's hand, who ran his eyes over it. "My letter will be useless, then, and I must write another," he observed when he had finished. "I'll get it, and show you what I said. It will save explanation." "Let me get it for you, Mr. Chandos," I interposed, anxious to save him. And without waiting for permission I left the room. But the letter was not on the table. "It is not there, Mr. Chandos; it is gone." "It cannot be gone," he said, taking out his watch. "It is only four o'clock. Emily's letter is not put there yet." Hickens was called. Hickens, in a marvel of consternation—at being asked what he had done with the letter—protested he had not seen it; he had not been in the hall that afternoon. We all went out; it seemed so strange a thing; and I showed Mr. Chandos where I had laid the letter. It had not slipped down; it could not be seen anywhere. Mr. Chandos looked at me: he was evidently thinking that the spy was again at work. "Was any one in the hall when you put the letter here, Miss Hereford?" "Lizzy Dene was passing through it. And Mrs. Penn and Hill were standing on the stairs." "They would not touch it," said Mr. Chandos, just as Lizzy Dene, hearing the commotion, looked from the door of the large dining-room. It was her place to keep the room in order, and she seemed to choose odd times to do it in. Mr. Chandos questioned her, but she said she had not touched the letter; had not in fact noticed it. At this juncture Mrs. Chandos came down the stairs, dressed for going out, attended by Mrs. Penn. She inquired of Mr. Chandos what the matter was. "A letter has mysteriously disappeared from the hall, Ethel," he replied. "A letter disappeared! how strange!" she returned, in the rather vacant manner that at times characterized her. "Was it of consequence?" "In itself, no. But these curious losses are always of consequence in another sense of the word. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Penn: did you speak?" For Mrs. Penn, who first stood back in her surprise, had advanced behind him, and was saying something in a low tone. "Mr. Chandos! reply upon it, the same hand that opened my letter has taken this one. You ought not to leave a stone unturned to discover the culprit. I speak in the interest of all." Mr. Chandos nodded grave assent. He seemed to be in a hopeless puzzle. I fully suspected Lizzy Dene; and I think she saw something of this in my face. "What should I do with a letter that was not mine?" she cried, her tone resentful, and addressing no one in particular. "If Mr. Chandos offered me a dozen of his letters to read, I'd rather be spared the trouble; I am no great scholar. And what good would they do me?" The argument seemed all conclusive; at least to Mr. Chandos. I suspected the girl more and more.