“He was rather a busybody,” Alice admitted; “but I am not surprised that he wrote to the Bishop. A good many other people used to complain about it. You were not in Belchester very long, so of course you knew nothing about it.”
“And do you mean to say that you have no idea at all why he went so often? You don’t know what he did there, or anything, not even where he stayed?”
“Not the shred of an idea,” Alice declared. “It used to worry me a great deal, and when I came here I hoped it was all over. Now it seems as though it were all beginning again!”
“I believe,” I said, “that I know what took him up to London to-day.”
“Really!” Alice cried, eagerly.
I nodded.
“It was a letter.”
“One that he had this morning?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”