"I want you to come to the library to write a letter for me, Freddy," she said in a tremulous voice. "Can't you write it yourself?" said Garvington selfishly, as he was in a hurry to get to his club. "No, dear. I am so tired," sighed Agnes, passing her hand across her brow. "Then you should have kept on Silver as your secretary," grumbled Garvington. "However, if it won't take long, I don't mind obliging you." He followed her into the library, and took his seat at the writing table. "Who is the letter to?" he demanded, taking up a pen in a hurry. "To Mr. Jarwin. I want him to find out where Gentilla Stanley is. It's only a formal letter, so write it and sign it on my behalf." "Like an infernal secretary," sighed Garvington, taking paper and squaring his elbows. "What do you want with old Mother Cockleshell?" "Miss Greeby was here to-day and told me that the woman knows something about poor Hubert's death." Garvington's pen halted for a moment, but he did not look round. "What can she possibly know?" he demanded irritably. "That's what I shall find out when Mr. Jarwin discovers her," said Agnes, who was in a low chair near the fire. "By the way, Freddy, I am sorry you let the Abbot's Wood Cottage to Mr. Silver." "Why shouldn't I?" growled Garvington, writing industriously. "Noel didn't pay me a pound a week, and Silver does." "You might have a more respectable tenant," said Agnes scathingly. "Who says Silver isn't respectable?" he asked, looking round. "I do, and I have every reason to say so." "Oh, nonsense!" Garvington began to write again. "Silver was Pine's secretary, and now he's Miss Greeby's. They wouldn't have engaged him unless he was respectable, although he did start life as a pauper toymaker. I suppose that is what you mean, Agnes. I'm surprised at your narrowness." "Ah, we have not all your tolerance, Freddy. Have you finished that letter?" "There you are." Garvington handed it over. "You don't want me to address the envelope?" "Yes, I do," Agnes ran her eyes over the missive; "and you can add a postscript to this, telling Mr. Jarwin he can take my motor to look for Gentilla Stanley if he chooses." Garvington did as he was asked reluctantly. "Though I don't see why Jarwin can't supply his own motors," he grumbled, "and ten to one he'll only put an advertisement in the newspapers." "As if Mother Cockleshell ever saw a newspaper," retorted his sister. "Oh, thank you, Freddy, you are good," she went on when he handed her the letter in a newly addressed envelope; "no, don't go, I want to speak to you about Mr. Silver." Garvington threw himself with a growl into a chair. "I don't know anything about him except that he's my tenant," he complained. "Then it is time you did. Perhaps you are not aware that Mr. Silver tried to blackmail me." "What?" the little man grew purple and exploded. "Oh, nonsense!"