“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.

“Do you know of any one who can imitate your handwriting?”

“Not that I know—­oh,” she stopped suddenly and grew as white as the widow’s cap she wore.  “Oh,” she said blankly.

“What is it?” demanded Miss Greeby, on fire with curiosity.  “Have you thought of any one?”

Agnes shook her head again and placed the letter in her pocket.  “I can think of no one,” she said in a low voice.

Miss Greeby did not entirely believe this, as the sudden hesitation and the paleness hinted at some unexpected thought, probably connected with the forgery.  However, since she had done all she could, it was best, as she judged, to leave things in the widow’s hands.  “I’m tired of the whole business,” said Miss Greeby carelessly.  “It wouldn’t do for me to be a detective, as I have no staying power, and get sick of things.  Still, if you want me, you know where to send for me, and at all events I’ve drawn Silver’s teeth.”

“Yes, dear; thank you very much,” said Agnes mechanically, so the visitor took her leave, wondering what was rendering her hostess so absent-minded.  A very persistent thought told her that Agnes had made a discovery in connection with the letter, but since she would not impart that thought there was no more to be said.

When Miss Greeby left the house and was striding down the street, Agnes for the third time took the letter from her pocket and studied every line of the writing.  It was wonderfully like her own, she thought again, and yet wondered both at the contents and at the signature.  “I should never have written in this way to Noel,” she reflected.  “And certainly I should never have signed myself ‘Agnes Pine’ to so intimate a note.  However, we shall see,” and with this cryptic thought she placed the letter in her desk.