Agnes did not want to eat, but Lambert, who quite agreed with the kind-hearted practical housekeeper, insisted that she should do so.  To please him she took two sandwiches, and a glass of the strong red wine, which brought color back to her cheeks in some degree.  When she finished, and had drawn her chair closer to the blaze, he smiled.

“We are just like Darby and Joan,” said Lambert, who looked much better for her presence.  “I am so glad you are here, Agnes.  You are the very best medicine I can have to make me well.”

“The idea of comparing me to anything so nasty as medicine,” laughed Agnes with an attempt at gayety.  “But indeed, Noel, I wish my visit was a pleasant one.  But it is not, whatever you may say; I am in great trouble.”

“From what—­with what—­in what?” stuttered Lambert, so confusedly and anxiously that she hesitated to tell him.

“Are you well enough to hear?”

“Of course I am,” he answered fretfully, for the suspense began to tell on his nerves.  “I would rather know the worst and face the worst than be left to worry over these hints.  Has the trouble to do with the murder?”

“Yes.  And with Mr. Silver.”

“Pine’s secretary?  I thought you had got rid of him?”

“Oh, yes.  Mr. Jarwin said that he was not needed, so I paid him a year’s wages instead of giving him notice, and let him go.  But I have met him once or twice at the lawyers, as he has been telling Mr. Jarwin about poor Hubert’s investments.  And yesterday afternoon he came to see me.”

“What about?”

Agnes came to the point at once, seeing that it would be better to do so, and put an end to Lambert’s suspense.  “About a letter supposed to have been written by me, as a means of luring Hubert to The Manor to be murdered.”

Lambert’s sallow and pinched face grew a deep red.  “Is the man mad?”

“He’s sane enough to ask twenty-five thousand pounds for the letter,” she said in a dry tone.  “There’s not much madness about that request.”

“Twenty-five thousand pounds!” gasped Lambert, gripping the arms of his chair and attempting to rise.

“Yes.  Don’t get up, Noel, you are too weak.”  Agnes pressed him back into the seat.  “Twenty thousand for himself and five thousand for Chaldea.”

“Chaldea!  Chaldea!  What has she got to do with the matter?”

“She holds the letter,” said Agnes with a side-glance.  “And being jealous of me, she intends to make me suffer, unless I buy her silence and the letter.  Otherwise, according to Mr. Silver, she will show it to the police.  I have seven days, more or less, in which to make up my mind.  Either I must be blackmailed, or I must face the accusation.”

Lambert heard only one word that struck him in this speech.  “Why is Chaldea jealous of you?” he demanded angrily.

“I think you can best answer that question, Noel.”

“I certainly can, and answer it honestly, too.  Who told you about Chaldea?”