I turned it round and round without speaking for a moment or two. I couldn't make it out. Then I said--
'What's this, Margaret? It must have dropped out of your pocket.'
She stopped crying--well, really, I think she had stopped already, for whatever her faults were she wasn't a babyish child--to look at it. She seemed puzzled, and felt in her pocket again.
'No, of course it's not the envelope you gave me,' she said. 'I've got it safe, and--oh, I believe I know how this old one got into my pocket. I remember a day or two ago when I was trying if it would do to tie my handkerchief on to Polly's cage, he was nibbling some paper. He's very fond of nibbling paper, and it doesn't hurt him, for he doesn't eat it. But he would keep pecking at me when I was tying the handkerchief, and I was vexed with him, and so when he dropped this I picked it up and shook it at him, and told him he shouldn't have it again, and then I put it into my pocket. He was very tiresome that day, not a bit a fairy; he is like that sometimes.'
'But how did he come to have an envelope with "Miss Wylie" on?' I said. 'He doesn't live in Mrs. Wylie's house, but in the one between yours and hers, and this must have come from _her_.'
'I daresay she gave it him to play with, or her servant may have given it him,' said Margaret, 'You see he's sometimes at the end of the balcony nearest her, and sometimes at our end. I think his servants have put him more at our end since she's been away; perhaps they've heard me talking to him. Anyway, I'm sure this old envelope must have come out of his cage.'
I did not speak for a moment. I was gazing at the address.
She did so, and then stared up at me, with a puzzled expression in her eyes, still red with crying.
'I believe,' I went on, 'I believe this is going to help us.'
Peterkin, who had been listening with all his ears, could contain himself no longer.
'And the parrot _must_ be a fairy after all,' he said, 'and he must have done it on purpose.'
But Margaret did not seem to hear what he said, she was still gazing at me and wondering what I was going to say.
'Don't you see,' I went on, touching the envelope, 'this must be the house of some of Mrs. Wylie's relations? Very likely she's staying with them there, and anyway they'd tell us where she is, as we know she's still in London. She told us she was going to be there for a fortnight. And she's very kind. We would ask her to lend us money enough to go back to the Junction, and then we'd be all right. You have got your ticket for Hill Horton, and we have our returns for home.'