Part 3 (1/2)
Miss Lester.
Somebody who knows something importent will be at the prebsytearean church front steps Saterday night at nine oclock if you whisper suffer littel childern they will know its you.
your trully
Two Freinds
When he had finished reading it he pa.s.sed to Mr. Cane. The lawyer compared it with the other letter. ”Huh!” he snorted. ”Identical! Same person wrote both of them! It's nothing but a dastardly hoax!”
The sheriff said nothing, and began to fumble in the drawers of his desk while Mr. Cane and Miss Lester were exchanging apologies and reestablis.h.i.+ng friendly relations. At length he turned around in his swivel-chair and announced:
”It may be a hoax, all right; but I've got other evidence against this here party.”
”Evidence against _me_!” gasped Miss Lester.
The sheriff nodded gravely and consulted several crumpled sheets of paper he held in his hand. They were the pages torn from the Boon for Baldness diary.
”Ain't you took a lot of int'rest in this here foundling?” he asked suspiciously.
”Indeed I have!” she responded with spirit.
”Went to see it las' Monday, didn't y'u?”
”I believe I did. I went there the moment I heard about it.”
”Went again Tuesday, didn't y'u?”
”Why, I presume--”
”And y'u bought a bottle of something at Westfall's drug store Tuesday afternoon, didn't y'u?”
Miss Lester blushed uncomfortably. ”I cannot see what possible connection my going to the drug store could have with this matter,” she parried.
”Well, anyhow, y'u went to see this here child again on Wednesday, didn't y'u?” the sheriff persisted.
”Mr. Sheriff,” Miss Lester burst forth at last, ”you do not seem to understand my position at all. I want to adopt the little darling. I haven't a chick or child in the world that belongs to me. I have been trying to find her parents for days so as to get their consent. That was why I went to the church this evening. When I found the note I had hopes that the mother had in some way learned of my interest in the baby and wanted to talk to me about her. Oh, I am so disappointed! Who could have been cruel enough to do such a thing for a _joke_?”
The sheriff succ.u.mbed as gracefully as possible and allowed that he had been ”barkin' up the wrong tree.” As he tossed the crumpled sheets on the table, Mr. Cane picked them up.
”You didn't tell me about these, Sheriff,” he said. ”Where did they come from?”
”They come by mail late this afternoon,” the sheriff replied. ”I thought I told you about it.”
”Hum,-- Same handwriting as the letters,” observed the lawyer as he ran through the littered pages. ”Our 'Two Friends' wanted to be sure that their hoax was going to work--”
He stopped abruptly and sniffed at the crumpled pages with an expression of mistrust--of something reminiscent. And suddenly, with an unintelligible exclamation, he caught up his hat and started for the door.