Part 34 (1/2)

”Ah!” he exclaimed. ”I had forgotten that. Um! However, don't let us forget, just now, that our main object in meeting was to do something towards tracking these people who gave Mr. Cave these papers. Now, Mr.

Cave, you got no information out of the woman?”

”None!” answered Mr. Cave. ”I was not to ask questions, you remember.”

”You took her for a gentlewoman?”

”Yes--from her speech and manner.”

”Did she imply to you that she was an intermediary?”

”Yes--she spoke of some one, indefinitely, you know, for whom she was acting.”

”And she told you, I think, that you had been recognized, in London, since your arrival, by some one who had known you in Australia years before?”

”Yes--certainly she told me that.”

”Just let me look at that typewritten letter again, will you?” asked Mr.

Carless. ”It seems impossible, but we might get something out of that.”

Mr. Cave handed the letter over, and once more it was pa.s.sed from hand to hand: finally it fell into the hands of Miss Penkridge, who began to examine it with obvious curiosity.

”Afraid there's nothing to be got out of that!” sighed Mr. Carless. ”The rogues were cunning enough to typewrite the message--if there'd been any handwriting, now, we might have had a chance! You say there was nothing on the envelope but your name, Mr. Cave?”

Mr. Cave opened his pocketbook again.

”There is the envelope,” he said. ”Nothing but _Mr. Cave_, as you see--that is also typewritten.”

Miss Penkridge picked up the envelope as Mr. Cave tossed it across the table. She appeared to examine it carefully, but suddenly she turned to Mr. Carless.

”There _is_ a clue in these things!” she exclaimed. ”A plain clue! One that's plain enough to me, anyway. I could follow it up. I don't know whether you gentlemen can.”

Mr. Carless, who had, up to that point, treated Miss Penkridge with good-humoured condescension, turned sharply upon her.

”What do you mean, ma'am?” he asked. ”You really see something in--in a typewritten letter?”

”A great deal!” answered Miss Penkridge. ”And in the stationery on which it's typed, and in the envelope in which it's inclosed. Now look here: This letter has been typed on a half-sheet of notepaper. Hold the half-sheet up to the light--what do you see? One half of the name and address of the stationer who supplied it, in watermark. What is that one half?”

Mr. Carless held the paper to the light and saw on the top line, ...

”_sforth,”_ on the middle line, ... ”_nd Stationer_” and, ... ”_n Hill_”

on the bottom line.

”My nephew there,” went on Miss Penkridge, ”knows what that would be, in full, if the other half of the sheet were here. It would be precisely what it is under the flap of this envelope--there you are!

'_Bigglesforth, Bookseller and Stationer, Craven Hill.'_ Everybody in this district knows Bigglesforth--we get our stationery from him. Now, Bigglesforth has not such a very big business in really expensive notepaper like this--the other half of the sheet, of course, would have a finely engraved address on it--and you can trace the owner of this paper through him, with patience and trouble.

”But here's a still better clue! Look at this typewritten letter. In it, the letter _o_ occurs with frequency. Now, notice--the letter is broken, imperfect; the top left-hand curve has been chipped off. Do you mean to tell me that with time and trouble and patience you can't find out to whom that machine belongs? Taking the fact that this half-sheet of notepaper came from Bigglesforth's, of Craven Hill,”

concluded Miss Penkridge with emphasis, ”I should say that this doc.u.ment--so important--came from somebody who doesn't live a million miles from here!”