The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(165)

                             “The police and some of the railway officials have made a ‘diligent search’ in the neighbourhood of the railway station, but no ‘poor lifeless body’ has been found. The police authorities are inclined to the belief that the letter is a hoax, though they are still investigating the matter.”

                In the same deliberate fashion as he had opened and read the cutting, Mr. Dyer folded and returned it to Loveday.

                “May I ask,” he said sarcastically, “what you see in that silly hoax to waste your and my valuable time over?”

                “I wanted to know,” said Loveday, in the same level tones as before, “if you saw anything in it that might in some way connect this discovery with the robbery at Craigen Court?”

                Mr. Dyer stared at her in utter, blank astonishment.

                “When I was a boy,” he said sarcastically as before, “I used to play at a game called ‘what is my thought like?’ Someone would think of something absurd—say the top of the monument—and someone else would hazard a guess that his thought might be—say the toe of his left boot, and that unfortunate individual would have to show the connection between the toe of his left boot and the top of the monument. Miss Brooke, I have no wish to repeat the silly game this evening for your benefit and mine.”



                             “Oh, very well,” said Loveday, calmly; “I fancied you might like to talk it over, that was all. Give me my ‘sailing orders,’ as you call them, and I’ll endeavour to concentrate my attention on the little French maid and her various lovers.”

                Mr. Dyer grew amiable again.

                “That’s the point on which I wish you to fix your thoughts,” he said; “you had better start for Craigen Court by the first train to-morrow—it’s about sixty miles down the Great Eastern line. Huxwell is the station you must land at. There one of the grooms from the Court will meet you, and drive you to the house. I have arranged with the housekeeper there—Mrs. Williams, a very worthy and discreet person—that you shall pass in the house for a niece of hers, on a visit to recruit, after severe study in order to pass board-school teachers’ exams. Naturally you have injured your eyes as well as your health with overwork; and so you can wear your blue spectacles. Your name, by the way, will be Jane Smith—better write it down. All your work will be among the servants of the establishment, and there will be no necessity for you to see either Sir George or Lady Cathrow—in fact, neither of them have been apprised of your intended visit—the fewer we take into our confidence the better. I’ve no doubt, however, that Bates will hear from Scotland Yard that you are in the house, and will make a point of seeing you.”

                “Has Bates unearthed anything of importance?”

                “Not as yet. He has discovered one of the girl’s lovers, a young farmer of the name of Holt; but as he seems to be an honest, respectable young fellow, and entirely above suspicion, the discovery does not count for much.”



                             “I think there’s nothing else to ask,” said Loveday, rising to take her departure. “Of course, I’ll telegraph, should need arise, in our usual cipher.”

                The first train that left Bishopsgate for Huxwell on the following morning included, among its passengers, Loveday Brooke, dressed in the neat black supposed to be appropriate to servants of the upper class. The only literature with which she had provided herself in order to beguile the tedium of her journey was a small volume bound in paper boards, and entitled, “The Reciter’s Treasury.” It was published at the low price of one shilling, and seemed specially designed to meet the requirements of third-rate amateur reciters at penny readings.