LADY MOLLY OF SCOTLAND YARD
talk of a clue and of startling developments—that I got terrified, and went to Scotland Yard. Oh, no! no! no! Promise me that my name won’t be dragged into this case. It would ruin me for ever!"
She was sobbing now; her grief and fear were very pathetic to witness, and she moaned through her sobs:
"Those wicked people know that I daren't risk an exposure, and simply prey upon me like vampires because of that. The last time I saw the old woman I told her that I would confess everything to my husband—I couldn't bear to go on like this. But she only laughed; she knew I should never dare."
"When was this?" asked Lady Molly.
"About three weeks ago—just before Jane Turner was assaulted and robbed of the photographs."
"How do you know she was robbed of the photographs?"
"She wrote and told me so," replied the young Countess, who seemed strangely awed now by my dear lady's earnest question. And from a dainty reticule she took a piece of paper, which bore traces of many bitter tears on its crumpled surface. This she handed to Lady Molly, who took it from her. It was a type-written letter, which bore no signature. Lady Molly perused it in silence first, then read its contents out aloud to me:—
"To H.S.H. the Countess of Hohengebirg.
"You think I have been worrying you the past twelve months about your adventure with Mr. Rum-
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