g widow."

And then, all at once, he bethought himself of Miss Pendarth's letter to
his mother.

Now Timmy was well aware that it is not an honourable thing to read
other people's letters; on the other hand, his mother always left Miss
Pendarth's notes lying about on her writing table, and more than once she
had exclaimed: "Betty? Do read that note, and tell me what's in it!"

And so, after a short conflict between principle and curiosity, in which
curiosity won, he began to read the letter. As he did so, he realised
that it formed a key to the newspaper report he had just read, for Miss
Pendarth's letter ran:

My dear Janet,

I am longing to talk over the enclosed with you. I was lately in Essex,
and when we meet I will tell you all that was said and suspected there
at the time of Colonel Crofton's death.

_Someone we wot of got off very lightly._ You will realise from even
this rather confused report that _someone_ must have put the bottle of
strychnine into the unhappy man's bedroom--also that he absolutely
denied having touched it. No one connected with the household, save of
course Mrs. Crofton, had ever seen the bottle until after his death.

It is a strange and sinister story, but I remember my father used to
say that Dr. Pomfrett (who for fifty years was the great medical man of
_our_ part of the world) had told him that not one murder in ten
committed by people of the educated class was ever discovered.

I think you know that Mrs. C. has had a very handsome offer for The
Trellis House from that foolish Mrs. Wallis, but I believe that up to
yesterday she had not vouchsafed any answer.

Your affectionate,

Olivia Pendarth.

P.S.--Please burn this note as soon as read. I don't want to be had up
for libel.

Timmy read the letter twice through. Then he very carefully folded up the
newspaper in its original creases, put Miss Pendarth's letter inside, and
made as tidy a roll as he could with the help of the brown paper. Finally
he slipped on the india-rubber band, and scrambling up from the floor,
unlocked the door. Taking Nanna's Bible off the round table, he went into
his own bedroom and there laboriously copied out, with the help of a very
blunt pencil, the text where the pin had rested in church. Then he took
the Bible into Nanna's room.

"What's that you're holding?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's something I have to give to Mum."

Somehow the sight of Na