“And have you been able to trace the notes?”

“Up to a point, yes. Or at any rate one of them. They were paid in separately, and when this fellow Wayne noticed one of them he reported it to the manager and they went through all the lot and found another. Only of course by that time no one could say where it had come from, so except as an indication that someone in the district is passing these notes, the second one is a wash-out.”

“And the first?”

“Well, that was paid in by a Miss Weekes who has a fancy-work shop at Dedham. Jackson and I went over to see her about it. She hasn’t any regular day for banking her takings, because she has relations in Ledlington and when she comes over she likes to spend the day with them, so it’s a matter of mutual convenience. There’s a friend who looks after the shop when she isn’t there.”

Miss Silver smiled.

“Fancy-work shops are often run in quite an easy-going way. It is considered a refined occupation by those who have had no business training.”

He laughed. “Miss Weekes is nothing if not refined. I think you’ve met her?”

“She has wool of a very good quality. I bought some two days ago.”

“And you paid-how?”

She said soberly,

“With a pound note. My dear Frank, you are not going to tell me-”

“I don’t know-I wish I did. Miss Weekes banked four pound notes yesterday. Of those four she herself took three-one from you. She described you as the lady who is staying at Deepe House, and added that you did a lot of knitting.”

“Oh, yes, I was recommended to go to her by Mr. Hawkes, the postman. She is, I believe, a connection of his.”

His very fair eyebrows rose.

“Whoever it was who said that one half of the world doesn’t know how the other half lives obviously had no experience of an English village. Talk about the fierce light that beats upon a throne-it simply isn’t in it with the light that beats on rural England.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I have often thought so. But let us return to Miss Weekes and the four pound notes. One of them came from me. What about the others?”

“She says Mr. Augustus Remington came in for embroidery silks. He is a frequent customer and she knows him well. He came in the same day that you did. His bill amounted to thirty-two and sixpence, and he paid it with a pound note, a ten shilling note, and a half-crown. Later on in the afternoon Miss Gwyneth Tremlett came in for canvas and raffia. She also paid with a pound note. So there are three of them accounted for. But no one seems to know anything about number four. Miss Weekes became quite tearful over it and said her friend must have taken it on Tuesday morning whilst she was out doing the shopping. The friend’s name is Hill, and she is a dreep. She has nervous prostration if more than two people come into the shop together. On Tuesday morning there was apparently an avalanche of six, and she became completely disorganized. By the time Jackson and I had finished with her the only thing she was sure about was that she had put all the money in the till, and if there was an extra pound note there someone must have given it to her, but if it was her last dying breath she couldn’t say more than that, and if we were going to take her to prison, she was ready to go, and all she wanted was to be allowed to die quietly of the disgrace and not have to face the neighbours. You know the kind of thing.”

“It is extremely difficult to deal with.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Jackson says he has an aunt like it, and there’s nothing you can do. As he put it, by the time they’ve finished working themselves up they don’t know black from white, nor chalk from cheese. So there we are-one pound note from you, one from Augustus Remington, one from Miss Gwyneth, and one from wherever you please. Where did yours come from?”

She said in an expressionless voice,

“Mrs. Craddock pays my salary weekly.”

“Oh, she does, does she? And that pound note was part of it-you’re sure about that?”

“I am perfectly sure.”

“Then three out of the four notes come from the Colony.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“It is more than a month since the robbery at Enderby Green, and there has therefore been a good deal of time for the notes to circulate. The one paid over the counter to Miss Weekes may have passed through a number of hands before it reached her. Since I myself cannot be sure that I did not handle it, the same may be the case with regard to Mr. Remington and Miss Gwyneth Tremlett. Any of us could have passed one of the stolen notes in complete innocence.”

“But the chances are still three to one that it came from the Colony.”

There was a hint of reproof in her voice as she said,

“I think it would be fairer to say through instead of from.”

As Miss Silver walked down towards the station to wait for her bus she reflected gravely upon the conversation which she had just had with Frank Abbott. It had not clarified anything, it had not led them anywhere, but it had certainly added to the apprehension with which the whole situation inspired her. She had the unpleasant sensation of trying to find her way in a fog. No sooner did a clue present itself than it petered out, any attempt to follow it resulting in confusion. Having started out to discover what had happened to Anna Ball, she found herself involved with Mrs. Craddock’s fears for the safety of her children.

And now, superimposed upon everything else, there was this business of the notes taken from the bank at Enderby Green. When she referred to what might be called the Craddock problem Frank had not given it very much attention. Three unruly children were enough to upset any boat, and as for the mushrooms-well, there was that close copy of the real thing, and anyone might be taken in by it. He remembered a correspondence about it in the Times, and the last word of the experts was that there was no certain test, but if you found the things growing near pine trees they were not mushrooms, and that was that. In the matter of the stolen notes, as she pointed out to him, once in circulation, any one of them might pass through a dozen hands before it was paid over Miss Weekes’ counter. But whether she regarded the problem of the Craddocks or the problem of the notes, a feeling of apprehension not only persisted but increased.

She was half way down the slope, when she heard footsteps behind her and a whispering voice said,

“Whither away, fair lady?”

Since she knew only one person capable of such a form of address, it was no surprise to find Augustus Remington at her elbow, looking a good deal less peculiar than usual. It could not be said that his clothes were like those of other people, but he no longer wore the blouse and corduroy trousers which he affected in the Colony, and beyond a certain flowing line and the fact that he wore a low-necked shirt, his garments approximated to those of the ordinary man. He was bare-headed, and his long lint-white hair lifted in the breeze.

Miss Silver said soberly,

“I am catching the five o’clock bus.”

The slender hands gestured.

“I also. A deplorable necessity. These mechanical inventions defile the purity of country life.”

It had never occurred to Miss Silver that life in the country was particularly pure, but she refrained from saying so.

“The smell-” said Augustus Remington, his whisper becoming fainter. “The noise-I am quite terribly susceptible to noise. The ruthless, inexorable grinding of the-ah, gears. I am entirely ignorant of these hideous mechanical contrivances, but I believe I am right in supposing that there are such things. As I have just said, a painful convenience, an outrage upon every artistic sense, but a present necessity. You have been shopping?”