“It were all flummery, doctors,” he said; “I don’t deny as Dr. John is a older friend, and a older favorite; but that is neither here nor there.  I jest see them setting a trap, and I wanted to have a finger in it.  ‘Ah!’ he says, ’all we want to know, but we do want to know that very particular, is where you drive Dr. Dobry to the oftenest.  He’s going to borrow money from us, and we’d like to find out something about his habits; specially where he spends his spare time, and all that sort of thing, you understand.  You know where he goes in your cab.’  ’Of course I do,’ I says; ’I drove him and Dr. John here nigh a twelvemonth ago.  The other gent took my number down, and knew where to look for me when you wanted me.’  ‘You’re a clever fellow,’ he says.  ‘So my old woman thinks,’ I says.  ‘And you’d be glad to earn a little more for your old woman?’ he says.  ‘Try me,’ I says.  ‘Well then,’ says he, ’here’s a offer for you.  If you’ll bring us word where he spends his spare time, we’ll give you ten shillings; and if it turns out of any use to us, well make it five pounds.’  ‘Very good,’ I says.  ’You’ve not got any information to tell us at once?’ he says.  ‘Well, no,’ I says, ’but I’ll keep my eye upon him now.’  ‘Stop,’ he says, as I were going away; ’they keep a carriage, of course?’ ‘Of course,’ I says; ’what’s the good of a doctor that hasn’t a carriage and pair?’ ‘Do they use it at night?’ says he.  ‘Not often,’ says I; ‘they take a cab; mine if it’s on the stand.’  ‘Very good,’ he says; ‘good-morning, my friend.’  So I come away, and drives back again to the stand.”

“And you left the lady there?” I asked, with no doubt in my mind that it was Mrs. Foster.

“Yes, doctor,” he answered, “talking away like a poll-parrot with the black-haired gent.  That were last Monday; to-day’s Friday, and this morning there comes this bit of a note to me at our house in Dawson Street.  So my old woman says.  ’Jim, you’d better go and show it to Dr. John.’  That’s what’s brought me here at this time, doctors.”

He gave the note into Jack’s hands; and he, after glancing at it, passed it on to me.  The contents were simply these words:  “James Simmons is requested to call at No.—­Gray’s-Inn Road, at 6.30 Friday evening.”  The handwriting struck me as one I had seen and noticed before.  I scanned it more closely for a minute or two; then a glimmering of light began to dawn upon my memory.  Could it be?  I felt almost sure it was.  In another minute I was persuaded that it was the same hand as that which had written the letter announcing Olivia’s death.  Probably if I could see the penmanship of the other partner, I should find it to be identical with that of the medical certificate which had accompanied the letter.

“Leave this note with me, Simmons,” I said, giving him half a crown in exchange for it.  I was satisfied now that the papers had been forged, but not with Olivia’s connivance.  Was Foster himself a party to it?  Or had Mrs. Foster alone, with the aid of these friends or relatives of hers, plotted and carried out the scheme, leaving him in ignorance and doubt like my own?