igarette
case to his visitor. "May I be frank with you?"

"Certainly." He accepted a cigarette and Clive resumed immediately.

"I think I am correct in assuming that the first letter is one of those
supposed--by some people--to have been written by Mrs. Carstairs, wife
of Major Carstairs of the Indian Army?"

"Yes." It would have been folly to deny the correctness of the
assumption.

"Well, I was not professionally interested in the case, but all along I
have had very grave doubts as to the course of justice in that unhappy
affair. And I have always thought the sentence was unjustifiably
severe."

Anstice's face cleared, and his manner lost its first stiffness.

"I am glad to hear you say so," he said heartily. "For my own part I am
perfectly convinced Mrs. Carstairs was absolutely innocent in the
matter. You see, I have the privilege of her acquaintance, and it would
be quite impossible for her to stoop to so low and degrading an action."

"Just so." For a second the expert wondered whether Dr. Anstice's
interest in Mrs. Carstairs arose from a purely personal dislike to see
an innocent woman unjustly accused or from some warmer feeling; but
after all it was no concern of his, and he dismissed that aspect of the
case from his mind for the present. "But I should like to ask you to
explain one thing to me. Would it have been possible for this Italian
woman of whom you speak to have written those former letters? I gather
that it is not altogether impossible, though I daresay improbable, for
her to be connected with this last one; but of course, if she must be
acquitted of any hand in the first, the clue drops to the ground at
once."

"Well"--for a second Anstice hesitated, then resolved to speak plainly.
"To tell you the truth, it would have been quite possible for her to be
mixed up in both affairs--save for one thing. The woman, is a servant in
the household of Mrs. Carstairs; but she's not only absolutely devoted
to her mistress, but is also unable to write even her name."

"What proof have you of that?" The question shot out so abruptly that
Anstice was genuinely startled.

"Proof? Well, the woman herself admits it, and certainly she has never
been seen to write so much as a word----"

"That does not prove she could not write quite well if she wished to,"
said Clive quietly. "People do strange things in this queer world of
ours, Dr. Anstice, as I expect you know considerably better than I do.
Have you nev