She pulled herself together as the result of a supreme effort and faced him confidently. “Had your mistress a lover?” “Pinkie” shook her head but in such a way that Bannister was quick to see it and follow up his question with another. “No? Are you absolutely certain that there wasn’t a secret lover in her life? Would you swear to it?” She hesitated—then framed her reply. “No one to my knowledge—but——” Bannister pounced. “But what?” “I am _not_ absolutely sure.” The admission seemed to have been wrung from her. Her reluctance was plain to behold. The Inspector looked her over keenly—obviously wondering what it was exactly that was in her mind. “What do you mean?” “I have noticed a change in her.” “What kind of a change?” “She was just a little bit secretive over one or two small things—didn’t confide in me so much.” “Give me an example.” “Pinkie” bent her head for a moment, thinking. “Well—just this. It’s hard to explain to anybody else. She has been to London about half-a-dozen times within the last twelve months—when she has returned here—she hasn’t been so full of what she had done, like she used to be—in the past she had always confided in me and told me everything. Then she has had letters from time to time in a handwriting that was strange to me—also I can remember a few postcards. I don’t know where they came from.” Bannister frowned, but Mr. Bathurst evidently considered the point of some importance. “Did you ever actually see one of these?” he inquired with his most engaging smile. “See one?” “Read one, if you like? I’m not accusing you of spying on your mistress’s correspondence, if that’s what you fear—but sometimes it may be hard to avoid seeing something that isn’t intended for us.” “Pinkie” nodded in acquiescence. “On two occasions I did happen to notice an initial at the foot of the card,” she contributed. “And what was it?” inquired Anthony. “Just the one letter ‘X’—that was all.” Anthony looked across at the Inspector and waited for his next move. The latter caught Mr. Bathurst’s meaning. He produced the postcard found amongst Miss Delaney’s belongings in the bedroom and handed it across to the woman. “Is this one of those to which you are referring?” “Pinkie” gazed at it with wide-opened eyes. “Yes—yes! That is one of the cards I mentioned. That’s in a handwriting I don’t know. Where did you get this?” “I’ll show you later on,” observed Bannister with a touch of severity, “meanwhile you can definitely state that Miss Delaney has received several communications in the same handwriting as this postcard—yes?” “Pinkie” nodded, “Several, sir.” “How long would you say they had been coming? Could you give a time?” questioned Anthony. She puckered her brows as she sat there and thought over the question.