morning, and received at Holt Stacey village at 9:43.

"How absurd! How ridiculous!" I exclaimed. "My name has been forged, of
course. I never sent that telegram; this is the first I have seen or
heard of it."

"That you will have to prove," the detective answered, with official
stolidity.

"Surely, Aunt Hannah," I almost shouted--so excited did I feel--as I
again turned to her, "you can't think I sent that telegram?"

"I certainly think nothing else," she replied, and her eyes were like
shining beads. "Who would send a telegram signed with your name but you,
or someone instructed by you?"

I saw that to argue with her in the frame of mind she was then in would
be futile--my presentiment at Holt that some day I should fall foul of
her had come true! I turned to the officer.

"I must see the original of that telegram," I said quickly, "and shall
then quickly prove that it was not sent by me. How soon can I get
hold of it?"

"Oh, we can see about it at once, sir," he answered much more civilly,
for, pretending to look for something in my pocket, I had intentionally
pulled out my leather wallet, containing two hundred pounds or more in
notes, and opened it for an instant. There is nothing like the sight of
paper money to ensure civility from a policeman disposed to be
impertinent--I should like, in justice, to add that most policemen