"They are all for me," she said. "Was there nothing for you?"
"No, indeed," cried the girl. "There's nobody who writes letters to me."
"Lies to her mother, does she?" said Nick to himself. "Well, it begins to look bad for her."
Miss Stevens did not notice the bits of paper on the floor, and Nick by clever work succeeded in getting possession of them.
Then, by Mrs. Stevens' permission, he went to look at the room already referred to.
No sooner was he there than he got rid of the lady upon some plausible excuse, and so had an opportunity of examining the bits of paper.
They were ordinary letter paper impossible to trace.
One bit was blank on both sides. The other bore some queer little marks, but no writing. To Nick the marks were quite clear. They were the dots and dashes of the Morse telegraphic alphabet. They represented the letters n, t, b, e, t, r, a, written very small on a narrow scrap, not more than an inch long.
"Don't betray," muttered Nick. "Worse and worse. Miss Stevens will evidently bear watching."
As to the room, his inspection of it was of little use. He had not expected much. He had come to see Miss Stevens, principally, and in her case the investigation had certainly begun better than he could have reasonably expected. She was engaged in some secret affair. She concealed letters from her mother. She had bribed one of the servants. This last fact was proven by the manner in which the letter had been delivered to her.