"Oh, nothing. Only—well, Colchester is a curious place for anyone to live who knows the truth about an affair in Kensington," was my reply, for fortunately I quickly recovered myself.
"Why not Colchester as well as Clapham—eh?"
"Yes, of course," I laughed. "But, tell me, what does the woman say?"
"She simply declares that she can elucidate the mystery and give us the correct clue—even bring evidence if required—as to the actual person who committed the crime, if we, on our part, will pay for the information."
"And what shall you do?" I asked eagerly.
"I don't exactly know. The letter only arrived this morning. To-morrow the Council of Seven will decide what action we take."
"Does the woman give her name?" I asked with affected carelessness.
"No. She only gives the name of 'G. Payne,' and the address as 'The G.P.O., London.' She's evidently a rather cute person."
"G. Payne"—the woman Petre without a doubt.
I recollected her telegram asking me to meet her. She had said that something had "happened," and she had urged me to see her as soon as possible. Was it because I had not replied that she had penned that anonymous letter to the police?