“Who’s advertising for her,” said the visitor, “and what has she done to need forgiveness? That should be my son’s business, I think. Her treachery was what cut him to the heart. He knew her and had often exchanged jokes with her at the door during the short time she was in the house. I told you, sir, that he loved a pretty face. This girl was pretty, and in an impudent lively way, he told me--but indeed I was able to see for myself; and though a mother’s eyes are prejudiced, I am not going to deny her an attraction of a sort.” “She gave the receipt to your son, you say--or he says?” “He told me, sir, that he was never so shocked and horrified in his life as when, returning from his round, he found it missing.” “But if she gave it to him?” “That is so, sir.” She put a hand momentarily to her eyes. “I must speak the whole truth,” she said in a low troubled voice. “Charlie was reticent about that morning. I felt that he was hiding something from me--not his guilt; no, sir, no. But I believe that, as a fact, he was courting the girl, and I can’t help thinking that his silence about particulars was designed in some way to screen her.” “What has become of her? Have you tried to see her since?” “She has left her situation, sir; which makes me the more certain that this advertisement refers to her.” “Softly, Mrs Baxter! We mustn’t jump too surely to conclusions. There may be other Jennetts in the world.” “There may be, sir; or there may have been once. There’s a tombstone in Hampshire, I’m told, with the name on it spelt that way. But not in London. Local wants would be advertised in local papers.” She had evidently considered the case in all its bearings. “I should like,” she said, “to have a word with Jennett’s employer.” “Well, why not?” asked Gilead. “Because, sir, he too has shut up his house and gone,” she answered. “Now, let me think out things a bit,” said Gilead. He paced the room for some minutes, deeply absorbed. Presently, with a sigh, he stopped before his visitor. “You must kindly leave your address with my secretary, Mrs Baxter,” he said. “I can promise you nothing but that I will look into this business--with what result you shall be informed no later than to-morrow morning. Any comments of mine on it at this stage would be superfluous and cruel.” She just gazed at him a moment with shining eyes. “Charlie is innocent,” she said. “God bless you, sir”--and she went hurriedly from the room. A little later saw Gilead closeted with Chief Superintendent Ingram of Scotland Yard. “No, Mr Balm,” the officer was saying: “I’m afraid you’ll make nothing of it. The case was as plain as the nose on your face, and as well-shaped, if you’ll excuse my saying it, from a professional point of view.” He laughed. “It seems you’re fated,” he said, “to be involved in these Post Office affairs; but you won’t come out of this one, I greatly fear, with such credit to yourself as you did out of the last.”