Mr Willet shrugged his shoulders. "Not so difficult as you think. The old man made a handsome settlement on her, and I suppose she times her journeys when she's got plenty in hand, and comes back when she's broke. Besides, her bank would let her overdraw, if she wrote to them." "You're right, I didn't think of that. Her bankers have got her address right enough, and, of course, they wouldn't give it. They would forward a letter though, if one could write one that would draw her." There was a pause after this. Johnson was pondering as to how it was possible to utilise her bankers--somebody in the household would be sure to know who they were. Willet was pondering too, and, as it appeared, to some purpose. "Look here, you haven't told me too much, and I don't blame you either, under the circumstances, but I see you want to get on her track. I've an idea I'll tell you." "You're full of 'em," said Johnson appreciatively. "You may take my word for it, nobody at the Wrenwyck house knows; anyway, nobody I can get hold of. Now, she's got a bosom friend, a Mrs Adair, rather rapid like herself, and married to just such another grumpy, half-cracked old chap as Wrenwyck himself." "I didn't know he was half-cracked," interposed Johnson, who never missed the smallest piece of information. "They all say he is. Wheeler, his valet, tells me he has frightful fits of rage, and after they are over, sits growling and gnashing his teeth-- most of 'em false, by the way." Mr Willet paused for a moment to accept his cousin's offer of another drink, and then resumed. "I don't want to raise your hopes too high, old man. If she's on the strict q.t. it's long odds she won't let a soul know where she is. But if she has told anybody, it's Mrs Adair, who, if necessary, would help her with money if she's short. They've been bosom friends for years; when in town they see each other every day." Johnson nodded his head judiciously. "It's an even chance that Mrs Adair knows, if everybody else is in the dark. But how the devil are we to get at Mrs Adair? If we could, she wouldn't give her away." Mr Willet grinned triumphantly. "Of course not, I see that as well as you do; I'm not a juggins. Now this is just where I come in to help the great London detective." "You are priceless, Dick," murmured Mr Johnson in a voice of unfeigned admiration. "Mrs Adair's maid is a girl I've long had a sneaking regard for. But I had to lie low because she was keeping company with an infernal rotter, who she thought was everything her fancy painted. Two months ago, she found him out, and gave him the chuck. Then I stepped in. We're not formally engaged as yet, but I think she's made up her mind she might do worse. It's a little early yet. I'm taking her out to-morrow night. I'll pump her and see if Mrs Adair receives any letters from Lady Wrenwyck. My young woman knows the handwriting, and the postmark will tell you what you want--eh?"