“That you will not bother me with useless questions, and that you will send out fresh notices to all the museums and art collectors you can think of, and request them to let you know of any art purchases they may have made within the last two years.” “The last two years!” ejaculated the chief, “why, the miniatures were only stolen three months ago.” “Did I not say that you were not to ask me useless questions?” This to the chief, mind you; and he only smiled, whilst I nearly fell backwards at her daring. But he did send out the notices, and it was generally understood that Lady Molly now had charge of the case. 4 It was about seven weeks later when, one morning, I found her at breakfast looking wonderfully bright and excited. “The Yard has had sheaves of replies, Mary,” she said gaily, “and the chief still thinks I am a complete fool.” “Why, what has happened?” “Only this, that the art museum at Budapest has now in its possession a set of eight miniatures by Engleheart; but the authorities did not think that the first notices from Scotland Yard could possibly refer to these, as they had been purchased from a private source a little over two years ago.” “But two years ago the Frewin miniatures were still at Blatchley House, and Mr. Frewin was fingering them daily,” I said, not understanding, and wondering what she was driving at. “I know that,” she said gaily, “so does the chief. That is why he thinks that I am a first-class idiot.” “But what do you wish to do now?” “Go to Brighton, Mary, take you with me and try to elucidate the mystery of the Frewin miniatures.” “I don’t understand,” I gasped, bewildered. “No, and you won’t until we get there,” she replied, running up to me and kissing me in her pretty, engaging way. That same afternoon we went to Brighton and took up our abode at the Hotel Metropole. Now you know I always believed from the very first that she was a born lady and all the rest of it, but even I was taken aback at the number of acquaintances and smart friends she had all over the place. It was “Hello, Lady Molly! whoever would have thought of meeting you here?” and “Upon my word! this is good luck,” all the time. She smiled and chatted gaily with all the folk as if she had known them all her life, but I could easily see that none of these people knew that she had anything to do with the Yard. Brighton is not such a very big place as one would suppose, and most of the fashionable residents of the gay city find their way sooner or later to the luxurious dining-room of the Hotel Metropole, if only for a quiet little dinner given when the cook is out. Therefore I was not a little surprised when, one evening, about a week after our arrival and just as we were sitting down to the _table d’hôte_ dinner, Lady Molly suddenly placed one of her delicate hands on my arm.