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She might have written it herself, so much did it resemble her style of writing. The terse communication stated that the writer, who signed herself "Agnes Pine," would meet "her dearest Noel" outside the blue door, shortly after midnight, and hoped that he would have the motor at the park gates to take them to London en route to Paris. "Hubert is sure to get a divorce," ended the letter, "and then we can marry at once and be happy ever more."

It was certainly a silly letter, and Agnes laughed scornfully.

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"I don't express myself in that way," she said contemptuously, and still eyeing the writing wonderingly. "And as I respected my husband and respect myself, I should never have thought of eloping with my cousin, especially from Garvington's house, when I had much better and safer chances of eloping in town. Had Noel received this, he would never have believed that I wrote it, as I assuredly did not. And a 'motor at the park gates,'" she read. "Why not at the postern gate, which leads to the blue door? that would have been safer and more reasonable. Pah! I never heard such rubbish," and she folded up the letter to slip it into her pocket.

Miss Greeby looked rather aghast. "Oh, you must give it back to me," she said hurriedly. "I have to look into the case, you know."

"I shall not give it back to you," said Agnes in a determined manner. "It is in my possession and shall remain there. I wish to show it to Noel."

"And what am I to say to Silver?"

"Whatever you like. You can manage him, you know."

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"He'll make trouble."

"Now that he has lost this weapon"—Agnes touched her pocket—"he can't."

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"Well"—Miss Greeby shrugged her big shoulders and stood up—"just as you please. But it would be best to leave the letter and the case in my hands."

"I think not," rejoined Agnes decisively. "Noel is now quite well again, and I prefer him to take charge of the matter himself."

"Is that all the thanks I get for my trouble?"

"My dear Clara," said the other cordially, "I am ever so much obliged to you for robbing Mr. Silver of this letter. But I don't wish to put you to any more trouble."

"Just as you please," said Miss Greeby again, and rather sullenly. "I wash my hands of the business, and if Silver makes trouble you have only yourself to thank. I advise you also, Agnes, to see Mother Cockleshell and learn what she has to say."

"Does she know anything?"

"She gave me certain mysterious hints that she did. But she appears to have a great opinion of you, my dear, so she may be more open with you than she was with me."

"Where is she to be found?"

"I don't know. Chaldea is queen of the tribe, which is still camped on the outskirts of Abbot's Wood. Mother Cockleshell has gone away on her own. Have you any idea who wrote the letter?"

Agnes took out the forged missive again and studied it. "Not in the least," she said, shaking her head.