He went back to Little’s room, and examined it minutely.  In the passage he found a card-case.  It was lying on the door.  Ransome took it up mechanically, and put it in his pocket.  He did not examine it at this time:  he took for granted it was Little’s.  He asked one of his men whether a man had not been seen in that room.  The officer said, “Yes.”

“Did he come down?”

“No; and I can’t think how he got out.”

“It is plain how he got out; and that accounts for something I observed in the mud.  Now, Williams, you go to my place for that stuff I use to take the mold of footprints.  Bring plenty.  Four of you scour the town, and try and find out who has gone home with river-mud on his shoes or trousers.  Send me the porter.”

When the porter came, he asked him whether Mr. Little had slept in the works.

The porter could not say for certain.

“Well, but what was his habit?”

“He always slept here of late.”

“Where did you see him last?”

“I let him into the works.”

“When?”

“I should think about seven o’clock.”

“Did you let him out again?”

“No, Mr. Ransome.”

“Perhaps you might, and not recollect.  Pray think.”

The porter shook his head.

“Are you sure you did not let him out?”

“I am quite sure of that.”

“Then the Lord have mercy on his soul!”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

That was Grace Carden’s first anonymous letter.  Its contents curdled her veins with poison.  The poor girl sat pale and benumbed, turning the letter in her hand, and reading the fatal words over and over again.

There was a time when she would have entirely disbelieved this slander; but now she remembered, with dismay, how many things had combined to attach Henry to Jael Dence.  And then the letter stated such hard facts; facts unknown to her, but advanced positively.

But what terrified her most was that Henry had so lately told her Jael
Dence loved him best.

Yet her tossed and tortured mind laid hold of this comfort, that not the man only, but the woman too, were loyal, faithful spirits.  Could they both have changed?  Appearances are deceitful, and might have deceived this anonymous writer.

After hours of mere suffering, she began to ask herself what she should do?

Her first feminine impulse was to try and find out the truth without
Henry’s aid.

But no; on second thoughts she would be open and loyal, show Henry the letter, and ask him to tell her how much truth, if any, there was in it.

The agony she endured was a lesson to her.  Now she knew what jealousy was; and saw at once she could not endure its torments.  She thought to herself he was quite right to make her dismiss Mr. Coventry, and he must dismiss Jael; she should insist on it.