using by preference the newest magnum bonum pen,
which was all right in itself, only stuck on an old wooden handle that
scribes of recent years had gnawed.

What this woman's jealous violence was prompting her to do was to alter
this letter so as to encourage its recipient to put himself in danger of
capture. It was an easy task, as the only words she had to insert could
be copies from what was already written. The first line required the
word _not_ at the end, the fourth the word _no_. The only other change
needed was the erasure of the word _not_, in the second line, which
already looked like an accidental repetition of _now_. Was an erasure
advisable? she decided against it, cleverly. She merely drew her pen
through the _not_, leaving the first two letters intentionally visible,
and blurring the last. She then re-enveloped the letter, much pleased
with the result, and wrote a short note in pencil to accompany it; then
hunted up an envelope large enough to take both, and directed it to W.
at the Post Office, East Croydon. This was the last address the convict
had given. Where he was actually living she did not know.

Her own letter to him was:--"The enclosed has come for you. I write this
in pencil because I cannot find any ink." It was a little stroke of
genius worthy of her correspondent's father. Nothing but clairvoyance
could have bred suspicion in him. Micky reappeared that evening in Sapps
Court, and found an opportunity to convey to Aunt M'riar that he had
obeyed his instructions. He did so with an air of mystery and an
undertone of intelligence, saying briefly:--"That party, missis! She's
got the letter."

"Did you give it her?" said Aunt M'riar.

"I see to it that she got it," said Micky with reserve. "You'll find it
all correct, just as I say." This attitude was more important than the
bald, unqualified statement that he had left the letter when he fetched
the beer, and Micky enjoyed himself over it proportionately.

* * * * *

Aunt M'riar was easier in her mind, as she felt pretty confident that
the letter would reach its destination. She had killed two birds with
one stone--so she believed. She had saved Daverill from the police, so
far at least as their watchfulness of Sapps Court was concerned, and
had also saved Uncle Mo from possible collision with him, an event she
dreaded even more than a repetition of those hideous interviews with a
creature that neither was nor