"Yes, what is it?" she cried.
Jane was pointing down a grove of Dorothy Perkins at the end of which a stout figure in black was retreating.
"That old clergyman!"
"What about him?"
"I'll swear he was in this room when I brought in the tea."
"You sure?"
"Positive. I saw him pass the house two or three times this morning and yesterday too."
"Half a mo," said Flora and hurried over to the writing table. "I say, haven't these papers been moved?"
"Yes, they have. My eye! it's exciting. What do you make of it?"
"Something fishy."