lace scarf wrapped all round her head and over her face.
But I was near enough to make out as she smelt summink beautiful of
voylits, and had on one of them shiny, silky-lookin' kind of
mackintoshes and a dress of pink silk."

A black mackintosh and a dress of pink silk! _Not_ a black cloak lined
with ermine! Not a dress of pink gauze! Of course Dollops was right in
his statement that it was not Margot; that fact alone proved it. So
there was a second woman who prowled about Wuthering Grange and
endeavoured to see somebody in secret, was there? Whom? Harry Raynor or
Lord St. Ulmer?

Clearly the one in the pink gauze--Margot beyond all possible
question--came to see Raynor, for Hamer had identified her as the woman
he had seen in that young man's company that day at Kingston. Who, then,
was this other woman in pink? And whom did _she_ come to see? What was
_her_ mission, her place in this elusive puzzle?

Come to think of it, he had been a fool to imagine when Dollops first
spoke of her that it could possibly be Margot. The pink dress itself
ought to have told him that. For although young Raynor had said that
the lady he knew as Mademoiselle Mignon de Varville nearly always
dressed in pink, Margot was no such fool as to prowl round this place
to-night in the identical frock she had worn at the time of the tragedy,
and from which that tiny scrap had been torn by the nail head in the
floor of Gleer Cottage.

True, nobody but Narkom and Ailsa and he himself knew, as yet, of the
finding of that betraying scrap, but---- Ah, well, you couldn't catch
Margot napping! She might not know when, how, nor _where_ that scrap had
been torn off, but _her_ shrewd eyes would detect the missing bit in the
skirt: she would be on to it like a cat on a mouse. He knew her methods,
knew her miscroscopic carefulness and attention to detail. What, then,
was this other woman's place in the puzzle? What was she after? Whom had
she come to see? He'd make it his business to find that out, and in
short order, too.

These things had travelled through Cleek's thoughts rapidly. It was
scarcely more than a moment after Dollops had last spoken when he
addressed the boy again.

"I've got something important on hand for you, as I told you, my lad,"
he said in a cautious whisper. "But, first, tell me: where is this other
door in the wall of which you speak, the one where the Pink Woman goes?"

"Jist about thirty feet farther up, gov'ner; there where t