“I do not wish our very pleasant relations, as neighbors, disturbed.  I would rather the Conants and Mary Louise did not suspect I am here on any especial mission.”

“Very well.”

“In truth,” continued Agatha, “I am growing fond of yon all and this is a real vacation to me, after a period of hard work in the city which racked my nerves.  Before long I must return to the old strenuous life, so I wish to make the most of my present opportunities.”

“I understand.”

No further reference was made to the letter or to Colonel Weatherby.  They talked of other things for a while and when Miss Lord went away there seemed to exist—­at least upon the surface—­the same friendly relations that had formerly prevailed between them.

Irene, reflecting upon the interview, decided that while she had admitted more than was wise she had stopped short of exposing the truth about Colonel Weatherby.  The letter was safely hidden, now.  She defied even Miss Lord to find it.  If she could manage to control her tongue, hereafter, the secret was safe in her possession.

Thoughtfully she wheeled herself back to the den and finding the room deserted she ventured to peep into her novel hiding-place.  Yes; the precious letter was still safe.  But this time, in her abstraction, she failed to see the face at the window.

CHAPTER XX

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND

Tuesday afternoon Miss Lord’s big touring car stood at the door of Hillcrest Lodge, for Agatha had invited the Conant party to ride with her to Millbank.  Irene was tucked into the back seat in a comfortable position and beside her sat Mrs. Conant, who was going to make a few purchases at the village store.  Mary Louise rode on the front seat with Agatha, who loved to drive her car and understood it perfectly.

When they drove away there was no one left in the house but Sarah Judd, the servant girl, who was washing the lunch dishes.  Bub was in the shed-like garage, however, washing and polishing Will Morrison’s old car, on which the paint was so cracked and faded that the boy’s attempt to improve its appearance was a desperate one.

Sarah, through the kitchen window, watched Bub for a time rather sharply.  Then she went out on the bluff and looked down in the valley.  Miss Lord’s big car was just passing the Huddle on its way up the valley.

Sarah turned and reentered the house.  Her meek and diffident expression of countenance had quite disappeared.  Her face now wore a look of stern determination and the blue eyes deepened and grew shrewd.

She walked straight to the den and without hesitation approached the farther wall and took from its pegs Will Morrison’s fine hunting rifle.  In the stock was a hollow chamber for cartridges, for the rifle was of the type known as a “repeater.”  Sliding back the steel plate that hid this cavity, Sarah drew from it a folded paper of a yellow tint and calmly spread it on the table before her.  Then she laid down the rifle, placed a chair at the table and with absorbed attention read the letter from beginning to end—­the letter that Irene had found in the book.