“In which case Pine might have intercepted the messenger,” put in Miss Greeby.  “It couldn’t have been sent by post, or Pine would not have got hold of it, unless he bribed Mrs. Tribb into giving it up.”

“Mrs. Tribb is not open to bribery, Clara.  And as to the letter, I never wrote it, nor did Noel ever receive it.”

“It was written from The Manor, anyhow,” said Miss Greeby bluntly.  “Look at the crest and the heading.  Someone in the house wrote it, if you didn’t.”

“I’m not so sure of that.  The paper might have been stolen.”

“Well.”  Miss Greeby again bit her umbrella handle reflectively.  “There’s something in that, Agnes.  Chaldea told Mrs. Belgrove’s fortune in the park, and afterwards she came to the drawing-room to tell it again.  I wonder if she stole the paper while she was in the house.”

“Even if she did, an uneducated gypsy could not have forged the letter.”

“She might have got somebody to do so,” suggested Miss Greeby, nodding.

“Then the somebody must be well acquainted with my handwriting,” retorted Lady Agnes, and began to study the few lines closely.

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.

“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.”

“He’ll make trouble.”

“Now that he has lost this weapon”—­Agnes touched her pocket—­“he can’t.”

“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.”