"Have you communicated the intelligence of her death to her trustee in Australia?" I asked.
"No; why should I?" he said, "no good would come of it to me. Why should I trouble myself about it?"
"Nor to your step-sister?" I added.
"To Mrs. Dobrée?" he rejoined; "no, it does not signify a straw to her either. She holds herself aloof from me now, confound her! You are not on very good terms with her yourself, I believe?"
"The cab was still standing at the door, and I could not leave before it drove away, or I should have made my visit a short one. Mrs. Foster was glancing through the window from time to time, evidently on the watch to see the visitor depart. Would she recognize Johanna? She had stayed some weeks in Guernsey; and Johanna was a fine, stately-looking woman, noticeable among strangers. I must do something to get her away from her post of observation.
"Mrs. Foster," I said, and her eyes sparkled at the sound of her name, "I should be exceedingly obliged to you if you will give me another sight of those papers you showed to me the last time I was here."
She was away for a few minutes, and I heard the cab drive off before she returned. That was the chief point gained. When the papers were in my hand, I just glanced at them, and that was all.
"Have you any idea where they came from?" I asked.
"There is the London post-mark on the envelop," answered Foster.—"Show it to him, Carry. There is nothing to be learned from that."
"No," I said, comparing the handwriting on the envelop with the letter, and finding them the same. "Well, good-by! I cannot often pay you as long a visit as this."