Tom was still prosecuting this search when Lucy came back to the drawing-room. She heard the story of the knocks with interest rather than with alarm, and was rather inclined to think they might be due to Clementina’s “nerves.” When Tom appeared with the torn envelope they all discussed it quite cheerily, speculating whether the handwriting was that of a man or a woman. Lucy thought it was that of a man—possibly a man accustomed to use clumsier tools than a pen. She clung to her original suspicion of the tipsy young carpenter. Miss Latimer declared that one or two of the characters looked of feminine construction, while Mr. Somerset remarked that some of them seemed to him to be far too well formed to be in natural keeping with the wild distortion of the rest. This envelope having been thus accidentally preserved, it was now decided, in view of the later developments, that it should be kept for a while longer. It was given into Tom’s charge, and he locked it away in his desk. Mr. Somerset advised that if the inspector should pay Mrs. Challoner another visit over the Jane-Smith-and-Marvel matter, she might do well to mention to him this strange blank missive and the mysterious knocks. Also, before he went away, he and Mrs. Challoner together had a little conference with Clementina. They told her that there was nothing to be alarmed about, and while thanking her for her original consideration in the matter of the uncanny knocks, they urged her henceforth to tell promptly of any happening which might strike her as peculiar. “It’s well I’m not a silly girl,” was Clementina’s remark. “I don’t like to be mixed up in strange ongoings, nor to see policemen coming to the door of the house where one lives. But what one’s born to, that one must go through. We all have our enemies, and if they don’t hurt us in one way, they will in another. I reckon those knocks ain’t meant to call for Clementina Gillespie.” There she paused, but glancing at Mr. Somerset, she read warning in his eye, and said no more. The next morning brought two events. The first was an intimation by post of Mr. Bray’s death at Bath. The second was a call from Mrs. Marvel, who sent up her card, with an apology for intruding on her neighbour at an unconventionally early hour. “Those who won’t make inquiries at the right season, naturally make them at last at the wrong time!” observed Tom. “Yes,” said Miss Latimer, “as Goethe says— “‘Of little things who trouble makes For lesser things he trouble takes.’” Lucy knew Mrs. Marvel by sight, prim and stately. But this morning she was a very perturbed and dishevelled lady. She had called to thank Lucy for having been interviewed on her behalf by the policemen.