"I had been hard at work at my translation, the one I told the doctor of, and strolled across for a breath of fresh air. This man was coming down the path, must have just passed the window, and I asked him what he wanted. He replied that he had a letter for Dr. Brabazon."
"Why did you not speak of this before, Mr. Henry?"
"I never thought to connect it with the loss. It was believed that the pencil was lost from the hall. The man did not seem in the least confused or hurried. I should fancy his business was quite legitimate, Miss Brabazon; merely the delivery of the letter. I saw one in his hand."
She went at once to question the servants, debating in her mind whether this was fact, or an invention of the German master's to throw suspicion from himself. Not any tidings could she get of a letter having been brought by hand that night. Dean was positive that no such letter had been delivered: One came the previous night, he said, for Mr. Baker and he took it to him. Miss Brabazon went back to the study, and asked Mr. Henry, waiting there by her desire, whether he had not made a mistake in the night.
"None whatever," was his reply. "I had received a letter from Heidelberg that day, enclosing an order for a little money due to me, and when I met this man I was considering how I could shape my duties on the following one, so as to have time to go to London and get it cashed."
"And did you go?"
"Yes, as soon as morning school was over. I told the doctor what my errand was. When I left, they were searching the hall for the pencil."
This, if true, disposed of one part of Mr. Trace's suspicions. Miss Brabazon thought how candid and upright he looked as he stood there talking to her. "Should you know the man again, Mr. Henry?" she suddenly asked.
"I might know his voice: I did not see much of his face. A youngish man; thirty, or rather more. I thought he walked a little lame."
Miss Brabazon lifted her head with more quickness than the information seemed to warrant. "Lame! Lame?"