"I—er—I thought I did," stammered the latter, but Betty shook her head.
"It's quite a mystery, my dear," the prelate explained. "It's in connection with that unfortunate affair in the train—you remember?"
"The purse?"
"Exactly. I received a telegram this morning from Scotland Yard—the police headquarters."
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you don't know it, but they have sent a detective here, a man named Grimes."
Betty could feel her lips getting white, but she kept her self-possession.
"I know," she said quietly, "I saw him."
"I had a few words with him myself just now. He seems like a straightforward fellow—says he has a clew, but—he isn't quite ready to make his report."
"How can he have a clew in this house?" objected Bob. "The servants have all left, and—I guess it's a false alarm."