"Do so," said Paul, stepping out of the cab. He was perfectly satisfied that Mrs. Krill was quite equal to deceiving Sandal. The wonder was, that she had not held her peace to him about "The Red Pig." "You won't come on to my club?" asked Sandal, leaning out of the cab. "No, thank you," replied Paul. "Good-night," and he walked away. The fact is Beecot wished to put on paper all that he had heard that night and send it to Hurd. As soon as he reached his attic he set to work and wrote out a detailed account of the evening. "You might find out if Lady Rachel committed suicide or whether she was strangled by someone else," ended Beecot. "Certainly the mention of the serpent brooch is curious. This may be the event in Norman's past life which led him to change his name." Paul wrote much more and then went out to post the letter. It was after midnight when he did, so there was not much chance of Hurd getting the letter before the second or third post the next day. But Paul felt that he had done his duty, and had supplied the information as speedily as possible, so he went to sleep with a quiet mind, in spite of the excitement of the evening. But next morning he was unable to sit down to his desk as usual, and felt disinclined to go to the newspaper office, so he walked to Jubileetown to see how Sylvia was getting along. Deborah met him at the gate. "Well I never, Mr. Beecot," said Mrs. Tawsey, with her red arms akimbo in her usual attitude; "this is a sight for sore eyes. Won't my pretty be 'appy this day, say what you may. She's a-makin' out bills fur them as 'ad washin' done, bless her 'eart for a clever beauty." "How is business?" asked Paul, entering the gate, which Deborah opened. "Bless you, Mr. Beecot, I'll be a lady of forting soon," answered the proprietress of the laundry, "the way washing 'ave come in is jest amazin'. One 'ud think folk never 'ad no linen done up afore, and that they never did 'ave," said Deborah, rubbing her nose hard, "in my way, which _is_ a way. If you'd only send along your shirts, Mr. Beecot, I'd be proud to show you what can be done with fronts, an' no thumbnails down them to spile their loveliness." Paul did not reply to this, but laughed absently. He was wondering if Deborah had ever heard her master drop any hint as to his having come from the place where Mrs. Krill resided, and asked the question on the spur of the moment. "Do you know Christchurch in Hants?" Deborah rubbed her nose harder and looked at him doubtfully. "Me as said as I'd no relatives must tell the truth now, as I 'ave," said she rather incoherently, "for my sister, Tilly Junk, worked for someone in that there place for years. But we never got on well, she being upsettin' and masterful, so arsk her to my weddin' I didn't, and denied relatives existing, which they do, she bein' alive ten years ago when she larst wrote." "You have not heard from her since?" asked Paul, inquisitively.