"Does she know anything?"
"She gave me certain mysterious hints that she did. But she appears to have a great opinion of you, my dear, so she may be more open with you than she was with me."
"Where is she to be found?"
"I don't know. Chaldea is queen of the tribe, which is still camped on the outskirts of Abbot's Wood. Mother Cockleshell has gone away on her own. Have you any idea who wrote the letter?"
Agnes took out the forged missive again and studied it. "Not in the least," she said, shaking her head.
"Do you know of any one who can imitate your handwriting?"
"Not that I know—oh," she stopped suddenly and grew as white as the widow's cap she wore. "Oh," she said blankly.
"What is it?" demanded Miss Greeby, on fire with curiosity. "Have you thought of any one?"
Agnes shook her head again and placed the letter in her pocket. "I can think of no one," she said in a low voice.
Miss Greeby did not entirely believe this, as the sudden hesitation and the paleness hinted at some unexpected thought, probably connected with the forgery. However, since she had done all she could, it was best, as she judged, to leave things in the widow's hands. "I'm tired of the whole business," said Miss Greeby carelessly. "It wouldn't do for me to be a detective, as I have no staying power, and get sick of things. Still, if you want me, you know where to send for me, and at all events I've drawn Silver's teeth."