Mrs. May was by no means sorry to change the conversation. A thousand questions trembled on her lips, but she restrained them. She was burning to know certain things, but the mere mention of such matters might have aroused suspicions in a far simpler mind than that of Mrs. Gordon. "So long as you are all well it doesn't matter," she said. "This afternoon I shall make an effort to get up. Meanwhile, I won't keep you from your household duties. Could I see one of those charming girls, Miss Vera or Marion? I have taken such a fancy to them." "Vera shall come presently; she has gone to the village," Mrs. Gordon explained. As to Marion she could say nothing. "Marion has been an enigma to us lately," she explained. "I need not tell you of the dark shadows hanging over this unhappy house, or how near we have been to the solution of the mystery on more than one occasion. And now Marion has an idea, queer child. "She went out, presumably last night, leaving a note to say she had really got on the track at last, and that we were not to worry about her even if she did not return to-day. So strange of Marion." Mrs. May had turned her face away. She was fearful lest the other, prattling on in her innocent way, should see the rage and terror and despair of her features. "Queer!" she murmured hoarsely. "Did she write to you?" "No, to my husband's father. Her note was given to me. Even now I don't know what to make of it. Would you like to see the letter? You are so clever that you may understand it better than I do." "I should like to see the letter." It was an effort almost beyond the speaker's powers to keep her voice steady. Even then the words sounded in her ears as if they came from somebody else. From her pocket Mrs. Gordon produced the letter. Mrs. May appeared to regard it languidly. "If I knew the girl better I could tell you," she said. "It sounds sincere. But my head is beginning to ache again." Mrs. Gordon was all solicitude. She drew down the blinds, and produced eau de Cologne, and fanned the brow of the sufferer after drenching it with the spirit. Mrs. May smiled languidly but gratefully. At the same time it was all she could do to keep her hands from clutching the other by the throat and screaming out that unless she was left alone murder would be done. "Now I really can leave you," Mrs. Gordon said. "It would be the greatest kindness," the invalid murmured gratefully. The door softly closed; Mrs. May struggled to a sitting position. Her eyes were gleaming, yet a hard despair was on her face. She ought to be up and doing, but her lower limbs refused their office. "A forgery," she said between her teeth. "Marion never wrote that letter. If they were not blind they could see that for themselves. Marion has been decoyed away; and, if so, somebody has that key. If I only knew. Tchigorsky is dead and Ralph Ravenspur is an idiot. Who, then, is the prime mover in this business?"