"Well"--for a second Anstice hesitated, then resolved to speak plainly. "To tell you the truth, it would have been quite possible for her to be mixed up in both affairs--save for one thing. The woman, is a servant in the household of Mrs. Carstairs; but she's not only absolutely devoted to her mistress, but is also unable to write even her name."
"What proof have you of that?" The question shot out so abruptly that Anstice was genuinely startled.
"Proof? Well, the woman herself admits it, and certainly she has never been seen to write so much as a word----"
"That does not prove she could not write quite well if she wished to," said Clive quietly. "People do strange things in this queer world of ours, Dr. Anstice, as I expect you know considerably better than I do. Have you never had an hysterical patient who declared she could not walk and after being carried about for months has been discovered dancing a fandango in her bedroom on the sly?"
He laughed and threw away his cigarette.
"Perhaps that's not quite a typical case, but you must have known of many people who declare they have lost the use of one or more of their faculties--possibly in order to gain sympathy from their friends?"
"Quite so." Anstice could not but admit the fact. "But as you say, in these cases there is generally some definite object to be gained, even if it is only the desire for sympathy. In this case, however, the motive appears to be lacking, for I gather that long before the anonymous letters began to arrive this woman had admitted her inability to handle pen or pencil."
"Really? That complicates matters a little," said Clive thoughtfully. "Though, of course, if the woman were a schemer it is possible she might prepare the way, so to speak, for some time beforehand. In any case it is an interesting problem. But I don't quite see why this woman--supposing it to be she--? should start another campaign, directed, this time, against you. Surely she can't want her mistress, to whom you say she is devoted, to be suspected once more?"
"I don't know--I confess it is a problem beyond my powers to solve," said Anstice rather hopelessly; and Clive answered at once, with a kind note in his voice.
"Don't say that, Dr. Anstice. All sorts of mysteries have come to light sooner or later, you know, and it is quite on the cards this one may be easier to solve than you think at present. At any rate, if I may give you a word of advice, keep your eye on the Italian woman. I'll swear those inverted commas are of foreign origin, and as a doctor you ought to be able to find some way of penetrating through any imposition in the way of pretence."