But what was this that Pargeter was saying? "Madame de Lera? Why should I ask her to interfere? I don't want to mix her up in this business more than I can help! If it hadn't been for her--and that ridiculous invitation of hers, Peggy would be here now! Peggy wouldn't mind your looking over her things, Grid. She's really fond of you--as fond of you as she can be of anyone, that is." He got up, and, preceding Vanderlyn down a connecting passage, flung open the door giving access to a spacious airy bedchamber of which the pale mauve and grey furnishings reminded both men of Peggy's favourite flower and scent. The sun-blinds were down and the maid was standing, as if waiting for them, by the dressing-table. They both instinctively hesitated on the threshold. "Tom," said Vanderlyn, hoarsely, "I don't think I ought to come in here----" "Don't be a fool! I tell you she wouldn't mind a bit. Surely you're not going to cut--now?" Pargeter took a step forward; then he stood for a moment looking round him, evidently perplexed, and ill at ease at finding himself thus suddenly introduced into his wife's intimate atmosphere. "I don't believe she kept any letters," he repeated, then glanced uncertainly at the lady's-maid who stood primly by. "Mrs. Pargeter kept some letters in that writing-desk over there, sir,--at least I think she did." Close to the small tent-bed stood an old-fashioned rosewood davenport, a relic of Margaret Pargeter's childhood and girlhood, brought from her distant English home. The maid waited for a moment, and then added, "The desk is locked, sir." "Locked? Then did Mrs. Pargeter take her keys with her?" "I suppose she did, sir." "Then it's no use," said Pargeter, with a certain relief, "I don't want to force the thing open." Vanderlyn looked across, coldly and steadily, at the woman. Her expression struck him as oddly enigmatical; meeting his glance, Plimmer reddened, her eyes dropped. "I expect any simple key would open it," he said, briefly. "Well, sir, I did ask the housekeeper to lend me a bunch of keys. Here they are," she opened one of the dressing-table drawers. "Perhaps one of the smaller ones would fit the lock." It was Vanderlyn who took the keys from her strangely reluctant hand, and it was he who at last felt the old-fashioned lock yield. "Now, Pargeter," he said, sharply, "will you please come over here?" The whole of the inside of the desk was filled with neat packets, each carefully tied up and docketed; on several had been written, "In the case of my death, to be burnt;" on other packets, "To be returned to Madame de Lera in case of my death." Vanderlyn saw that here at least were none of his letters, and none from Peggy's child. "It's no use bothering about any of these," said Pargeter, crossly, "they can't tell us anything. Why anyone should trouble to keep old letters is quite beyond me!"