hat to go, and then addressed me again. “By the way,” he said, “your clients in Cumberland have not heard anything more of the woman who wrote the anonymous letter, have they?”
“Nothing more,” I answered. “Have you found no trace of her?”
“Not yet,” said my legal friend. “But we don’t despair. Sir Percival has his suspicions that Somebody is keeping her in hiding, and we are having that Somebody watched.”
“You mean the old woman who was with her in Cumberland,” I said.
“Quite another party,
have been now set at rest. There, speaking affrightedly for itself—there was the same face confronting me over Mrs. Fairlie’s grave which had first looked into mine on the high-road by night.
“You remember me?” I said. “We met very late, and I helped you to find the way to London. Surely you have