“Well?”

“There is a gypsy girl there called Chaldea.”

“Chaldea!  Chaldea!” muttered the widow, passing her hand across her brow.  “I have heard that name.  Oh, yes.  Miss Greeby mentioned it to me as the name of a girl who was sitting as Mr. Lambert’s model.”

“Yes,” assented Silver, grinning.  “She is a very beautiful girl.”

The color rushed again to the woman’s cheeks, but she controlled her emotions with an effort.  “So Miss Greeby told me!” She knew that the man was hinting that Lambert admired the girl in question, but her pride prevented her admitting the knowledge.  “Chaldea is being painted as Esmeralda to the Quasimodo of her lover, a Servian gypsy called Kara, as I have been informed, Mr. Silver.  But what has all this to do with me?”

“Don’t be in a hurry, Lady Agnes.  It will take time to explain.”

“How dare you take this tone with me?” demanded the widow, clenching her hands.  “Leave the room, sir, or I shall have you turned out.”

“Oh, I shall leave since you wish it,” replied Silver, rising slowly and smoothing his silk hat with his sleeve.  “But of course I shall try and earn the reward you offered, by taking the letter to the police.”

Agnes was so surprised that she closed again the door she had opened for her visitor’s exit.  “What letter?”

“That one which was written to inveigle Sir Hubert to The Manor on the night he was murdered,” replied Silver slowly, and suddenly raising his eyes he looked at her straightly.

“I don’t understand,” she said in a puzzled way.  “I have never heard that such a letter was in existence.  Where is it?”

“Chaldea has it, and will not give it up unless she receives five thousand pounds,” answered the man glibly.  “Give it to me and it passes into your possession, Lady Agnes.”

“Give you what?”

“Five thousand pounds—­on account.”

“On account of blackmail.  How dare you make such a proposition to me?”

“You know,” said Silver pointedly.

“I know nothing.  It is the first time I have heard of any letter.  Who wrote it, may I ask?”

“You know,” said Silver again.

Lady Agnes was so insulted by his triumphant look that she could have struck his grinning face.  However, she had too strong a nature to lower herself in this way, and pointed to a chair.  “Let me ask you a few questions, Mr. Silver,” she said imperiously.

“Oh, I am quite ready to answer whatever you choose to ask,” he retorted, taking his seat again and secretly surprised at her self-control.

“You say that Chaldea holds a letter which inveigled my husband to his death?” demanded Lady Agnes coolly.

“Yes.  And she wants five thousand pounds for it.”

“Why doesn’t she give it to the police?”

“One thousand pounds is not enough for the letter.  It is worth more—­to some people,” and Silver raised his pale eyes again.