"I daresay all you say concerning Anna Bauer's powers of cooking, of saving, of mending, and of cleaning, are quite true!" he exclaimed, with a laugh. "But believe me, Mr. Hayley, she's a wicked old woman! Of course I shall know a great deal more about her to-morrow morning. But I've already been able to gather a good deal to-day. There's been a regular nest of spies in this town, with antennae stretching out over the whole of this part of the southwest coast. Would you be surprised to learn that your cousin's good old Anna has a married daughter in the business--a daughter married to an Englishman?" "You don't mean George Pollit?" asked James Hayley eagerly. "Yes--that's the man's name! Why, d'you know him?" "I should think I do! I helped to get him out of a scrape last year. He's a regular rascal." "Aye, that he is indeed. He's acted as post office to this man Hegner. It's he, the fellow they call Alfred Head, the Dean's friend, the city councillor, who has been the master spy." Again he laughed, this time rather unkindly. "I think we've got the threads of it all in our hands by now. You see, we found this man Pollit's address among the very few papers which were discovered at that Spaniard's place near Southampton. A sharp fellow went to Pollit's shop, and the man didn't put up any fight at all. They're fools to employ that particular Cockney type. I suppose they chose him because his wife is German----" There came a loud ring at the front door, and James Hayley jumped up. "I'd better see what that is," he said. "The woman we've got here is such a fool!" He went out into the hall, and found Rose Blake. "We heard about Anna just after we got to London," she said breathlessly. "A man in the train mentioned it to Jervis quite casually, while speaking of mother's wedding. So we came back at once to hear what had really happened and to see if we could do anything. Oh, James, what a dreadful thing! Of course she's innocent--it's absurd to think anything else. Where is she? Can I go and see her now, at once? She must be in a dreadful state. I do feel so miserable about her!" "You'd better come in here," he said quietly. It was odd what a sharp little stab at the heart it gave him to see Rose looking so like herself--so like the girl he had hoped in time to make his wife. And yet so different too--so much softer, sweeter, and with a new radiance in her face. He asked sharply, "By the way, where's your husband?" "He's with the Robeys. I preferred to come here alone." She followed him into the dining-room. "This is Mr. Reynolds,--Mr. Reynolds, my cousin Mrs. Blake!" He waited uncomfortably, impatiently, while they shook hands, and then: "I'm afraid you're going to have a shock----" he exclaimed, and, suddenly softening, looked at her with a good deal of concern in his face. "There's very little doubt, Rose, that Anna Bauer is guilty."