He handed him the envelope of the anonymous letter addressed to Mr. Wetherell. The man took it and turned it over in his hands.
"Yes, sir," he said, "I have seen it before; I took it in at the front door."
"From whom?"
"From a little old woman, sir," the man answered.
"A little old woman!" cried the inspector, evidently surprised. "What sort of woman?"
"Well, sir, I don't know that I can give you much of a description of her. She was very small, had a sort of nut-cracker face, a little black poke bonnet, and walked with a stick."
"Should you know her again if you saw her?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Did she say anything when she gave you the letter?"
"Only, 'For Mr. Wetherell, young man.' That was all, sir."
"And you didn't ask if there was an answer? That was rather a singular omission on your part, was it not?"
"She didn't give me time, sir. She just put it into my hand and went down the steps again."
"That will do. Now, Mr. Wetherell, I think we'd better see about getting that money from the bank. You need not wait, my man."
The footman thereupon left the room, while both Mr. Wetherell and I stared at the inspector in complete surprise. He laughed.
"You are wondering why I said that," he said at length.
"It did strike me as curious," answered Wetherell.
"Well, let me tell you I did it with a purpose. Did
