"Methodical," repeated Mr. Carden-Cox, holding Ethel's note, and tapping it gently. "Yes, now I think of it, I had placed the four letters in a row upon my desk—in a row, as I always do, following the order in which I write. It seemed hardly needful to examine the addresses. I may have done so cursorily, but only cursorily—not with especial care. I was sure of the order in which the letters lay; yes, I can recall that now. Yours first, to the left; then Fulvia's. I noted that, coupling you and Fulvia together, you see—ha!—then Ethel's, and lastly Daisy's. No mistake about the matter; no mistake possible, in fact. Extraordinary that the postscripts should have become disarranged. I don't see for my part how they could have done so. Still—facts are stubborn. You are sure that it was as you state?" "Perfectly." "Well, I don't understand—I don't understand at all." Mr. Carden-Cox rubbed his hair till it stood on end. "Four envelopes, four letters, four postscripts—yours, Fulvia's, Ethel's, and Daisy's. That was the precise order. I could take my oath in a court of justice as to the way in which they were placed. Extraordinary! Did you say I wrote 'N.B.' instead of 'P.S.'? Comical rather! Never did such a thing in my life before. Must have been thinking too much about you, my dear fellow—you and my dear Fulvia! Nothing unusual in that perhaps. I suppose you and Fulvia—Well, well; yes, and then—to be sure! 'N.B.' on all four postscripts, you say?" "I know nothing about the four. Fulvia's postscript came to me, and I sent it to her at once, unread. Ethel's came to Daisy, and was read by mistake." "And the other two: Daisy's and yours?" "There were no others." "I beg your pardon. There were two others. Four altogether. One to each." "Then the other two were not posted. You will most likely find them in your desk." "I shall most likely do nothing of the sort. The other two were posted." Mr. Carden-Cox was growing irate. "My recollections are perfectly clear. I can distinctly recall putting the four postscripts into the four envelopes, one into each. I tell you I could declare this on oath, in a court of justice. It is a matter of absolute certainty. If the first two went wrong, the third and fourth went wrong also. But somebody has got them—somebody has. No possibility of a mistake there. Ethel and Fulvia have had a postscript each, and not their own postscripts, since you and Daisy received those." "I saw Ethel within half-an-hour of getting your letter; and the post must have been in at the Rectory. She would surely have told me if there had been a postscript for anybody at home." "Hallo! This is the girl's own handwriting!" Mr. Carden-Cox was gazing at the note he held. "Ethel's!" "Ethel Elvey's, of course. Humph! Why, here it is!" Mr. Carden-Cox held up the half-sheet with his own handwriting.