e ran up the steps of the porch, then hesitated for a moment.
Her heart was beating now. Then she rang. There was a very long pause
during which she heard nothing but the pumping of her heart. Then
distant shuffling footsteps coming nearer. The door opened. She saw a
slatternly woman . . . behind her the void of an empty house. She could
not speak for emotion.

'Did you want to see the house, mum,' asked the woman. She looked sour.
Sunday afternoon was hardly a time to view.

'The house?'

'Oh . . . I thought you come from Belfrey's, mum. It's to let.'

The caretaker nodded towards the right and Victoria, following the
direction, saw the house agents' board. Her excitement fell as under a
cold douche.

'Oh! I came to see . . . Do you know where Mr Holt is?'

'Mr Holt's dead, mum. Died in August, mum.'

'Dead.' Things seemed to go round. Jack was the only son . . . then?'

'Yes, mum. That's why they're letting. A fine big 'ouse, mum. Died in
August, mum. Ah, you should have seen the funeral. They say he left half
a million, mum, and there wasn't no will.'

'Where is Mrs Holt and . . . and Mr Holt's son.'

The caretaker eyed the visitor suspiciously. There was something rakish
about this young lady which frightened her respectability.

'I can't say, mum,' she answered slowly. 'I could forward a letter,
mum,' she added.

'Let me come in. I want to write a note.'

The caretaker hesitated for a moment, then stood aside to let her pass.

'You'll 'ave to come downstairs mum,' she said, 'sorry I'm all mixed up.
I was doing a bit of washing. Git away Maria,' to a small child who
stood at the top of the stairs.

In the gaslit kitchen, surrounded by steaming linen, Victoria wrote a
little feverish note in pencil. The caretaker watched her every
movement. She liked her better somehow.

'I'll forward it all right, mum,' she said. 'Thank you mum. . . . Oh,
mum, I don't want you to think--' She was looking amazedly at the half
sovereign in her palm.

'That's all right,' said Victoria, laughing loudly. She felt she must
laugh, dance, let herself go. 'Just post it before twelve.'

The woman saw her to the door. Then she looked at the letter doubtfully.
It was freshly sealed and could easily be opened. Then she had a burst
of loyalty, put on a battered bonnet, completed the address, stamped the
envelope and, walking to the pillar box round the corner, played
Victoria's trump card.

CHAPTER XV

'AND so, J