“Very considerate indeed,” observed Miss Latimer. “So many servants take delight in rushing forward with bad news or worries. I was afraid the policemen’s visit alone would prove too much for Clementina. I do hope she won’t get flurried into leaving—for she seems a treasure in so many ways. Was she much disturbed?” “No,” said Tom reflectively. “No, she took it quite sensibly.” “Perhaps, as you say she is a superstitious woman, she accepts the mysterious as a natural factor in ordinary existence,” observed Mr. Somerset. Tom was still meditative. “Now I come to think of it,” he said, “there was something funny happened two or three weeks ago, though we didn’t think much of it at the time. Do you remember the blank letter, Miss Latimer?” “Yes, indeed,” cried the old lady. “Mrs. Challoner received a very ill-written envelope, which we thought must contain a bill due to a bricklayer who had been lately employed. But there was nothing in the envelope save a sheet of blank paper. Still we thought the man must have put this in by mistake, till he presented his bill in person a few days afterwards, and then Lucy asked him if he had sent it in before, and he said no, he had made it up only that morning.” “Is Mrs. Challoner to hear about these knocks?” asked Tom. “Why not?” said Miss Latimer. “It was good of Clementina to keep silence about what she thought might annoy her mistress. But Lucy would not feel any worry over such a thing as this.” “You see,” said Tom speaking with bated breath, “Clementina said now this had come out about the Marvels’ servant, it might be to do with them. But at first she had thought that it might be a sign that—that—something had happened to Mr. Challoner, and that was why she wouldn’t speak!” “Oh, nonsense,” returned Miss Latimer. “We must not let her suggest this idea to Lucy—not till Charlie is here safe and sound. But we won’t have any mysteries or keepings back. A sensitive nature suffers more from those than from the sternest revelation. Even when there’s real trouble in question and somebody thinks to hide it out of kindness, he has to hide his true self at the same time, and that generally gives greater pain than anything else could.” “We’ll tell Mrs. Challoner all about it the minute she comes back,” decided Mr. Somerset. “That’s right,” said Miss Latimer. “If one’s bothers reach one through friendly hands two-thirds of their poison is drained off.” “I say,” remarked Tom, “I don’t believe the dining-room waste-paper basket has been emptied lately. This morning I noticed it was very full. I shouldn’t wonder if the envelope in which that blank sheet came is still there. I’ll go down and look for it.”