Her letter ended with a casual inquiry after Mallow, and expressed a hope that Tui had seen him. As the strength of a chain lies in its weakest link, so the strength of Olive's letter lay in the pointedly trifling allusion to Mallow. Small wonder if Tui smiled to herself at the studied indifference of those few lines. Women understand those things. As Olive directed and stamped the envelope a knock came to the door, and a smiling waiter entered with a letter addressed in lead pencil to Miss Bellairs. She did not know the writing, but, when the man had gone, she soon discovered that the letter was from Clara. There were two hurriedly pencilled pages commencing abruptly, without date or address, as follows:-- "I don't want you to think worse of me than you do, for the trouble I brought on you was not of my making. I am--or, rather, I was--a tool in the hands of the Anarchists, and against my will I was forced to play what I know was a mean part. My father, Michael Trall, was a gentleman, and at one time very rich. But he gambled away all his money, and left my mother and myself to starve in London. I am now thirty years of age, but never since an infant have I seen my father. Neither have I heard of him; nor do I even know what he is like in appearance. But I do know that he was a bad father and a bad husband, who broke his wife's heart. My poor mother died when I was only two years of age; and I might have been an outcast in the streets but that my good uncle Jeremiah took charge of me. He had a little money, and until I was twenty we lived on that. He was kind to me; but, alas! he was the slave of drink--and, by indulgence in it, so weakened his will and self-respect that he was the prey of any scoundrel who cared to meddle with him. Dr. Drabble met him ten years ago or more, and, seeing in him a useful tool, inveigled him into the toils of the Anarchists. I tried to rescue my uncle as he had rescued me, but in vain; so, to protect him, I also took the oath to the brotherhood. I was forced to implicit obedience--I was ordered to Casterwell as your servant, in order to spy upon you. I confess that, in one sense, I went willingly--for I am Carlo's wife; and, as Dr. Drabble had arranged that he was to marry you for the sake of the money, I was jealous. I consented to keep quiet, only because I wanted the fifty thousand pounds. I had made up my mind that Carlo and I should use it, and once and for ever free ourselves from the brotherhood. You have taken that hope from us; but I don't blame you even now. The money was yours, and we swindled you. Carlo and I are going away, and you will never see us or hear from us again. He is a poor, weak creature in your eyes; but in mine he is the man I love, and I hope to be happy with him in the future--if only we can escape the relentless hand of the brotherhood. If I knew who killed Carson, I would tell you; but I do not. I suspect Drabble, since he brought the bangle to Carlo; but this is mere suspicion.