Mrs. Carswell, that I am my uncle's nearest relation. Now I want to go through his papers and things. I want to see his desk—his last letters—anything—and everything there is."
She laid a hand on the door—and Mrs. Carswell suddenly found her tongue.
"Oh, miss!" she said, in a low, frightened voice, "you can't! That room's locked up. So is the study—where all Mr. Horbury's papers are. So is his bedroom. Mr. Joseph Chestermarke locked them all up last night—he has the keys. Nobody's to go into them—nor into any other room—without his permission."
Betty's cheeks began to glow, and an obstinate look to settle about her lips.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "But I think I shall have something to say to that, Mrs. Carswell. Ask Mr. Joseph Chestermarke to come here a minute."
The housekeeper shrunk back.
"I daren't, Miss Fosdyke!" she answered. "It would be as much as my place was worth!"
"I thought you were my uncle's housekeeper," suggested Betty. "Aren't you? Or are you employed by Mr. Joseph Chestermarke? Come, now?"
Mrs. Carswell hesitated. It was very evident that she was afraid. But of what?
"So far as I know," continued Betty, "this is my uncle's house, and you're his servant. Am I right or wrong, Mrs. Carswell?"
"Right as regards my being engaged by Mr. Horbury," replied the housekeeper. "But the house belongs to—them! Mr. Horbury—so I understand—
