"Now only to think that one can't meet with an accident without its being known all round as soon as done!" she exclaimed. "If I had thought you had anything to do with the matter, sir, I'd have told the truth when I came back; but I was afraid Mrs. Penn would be angry with me." "I shall be pleased to hear that the letter was not delivered," said Mr. Chandos. "So tell the truth now." "Where I could have lost it, master, I know no more than the dead," she resumed. "I know I put it safe in my basket; and though I did run, it could not have shaken out, because the lid was shut down; but when I got to Mr. Barley's, and went to take it out, it was gone. Sleighted off right away; just like that letter you lost from the hall-table, sir. What to do I didn't know, for I had given a good pull at their bell before I found out the loss. But I had got another letter in my basket——" "Another letter?" interrupted Mr. Chandos, thinking his fears were verified. "Leastways, as good as a letter, sir. As luck would have it, when I was running down the avenue, I met the young man from the fancy-draper's shop in the village, and he thrust a folded letter in my hands. 'For Lady Chandos, and mind you give it her,' says he, 'for it's a list of our new fashions.' So, what should I do, sir, when I found the other was gone, but give in the fashions to Mr. Barley's young man. 'And mind you take it in to your master without no delay,' says I, 'for it's particular.' He'll wonder what they want, sending him the fashions," concluded Lizzy. "You said nothing to Mrs. Penn of this?" "Well—no, I didn't. I meant, when she found it out, to let her think I had given in the wrong letter by mistake. I don't suppose hers was of much consequence, for it was only writ in pencil. I didn't take the money she offered me, though; I thought that wouldn't be fair, as had not done the service." "And my desire is, that you say nothing to her," said Mr. Chandos. "Let the matter rest as it is." Mr. Chandos looked very grave after Lizzy Dene withdrew, as though he were debating something in his mind. Suddenly he spoke— "Anne, cast your thoughts back a few years. Was there any one in Mr. Edwin Barley's house, at the time Philip King was killed, at all answering to the description of Mrs. Penn?" I looked at him in simple astonishment. "It has struck me once or twice that Mrs. Penn must have been in the house, or very near it, by the knowledge she has of the details, great and small. And it would almost seem now, Anne, as though she were in league with Edwin Barley, acting as his spy." "No one whatever was there except the servants and Charlotte Delves?" "Stop a bit. Charlotte Delves—C. D. P.; C. D. would stand for that name. Is Mrs. Penn Charlotte Delves?" The question nearly took my breath away. "But, Mr. Chandos, look at Mrs. Penn's hair! Charlotte Delves had pretty hair—very light; quite different from this." He smiled sadly.