The Leavenworth Case (Penguin Classics) by Anna Katharine Green

Author:Anna Katharine Green [Green, Anna Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2010-04-27T06:00:00+00:00

The document fell from my hands.

F——, N.Y., was a small town near R——.

“Your friend is a trump,” I declared. “He tells me just what I wanted most to know.” And, taking out my book, I made a memorandum of the facts which had most forcibly struck me during my perusal of the communication before me.

“With the aid of what he tells me,” I cried, “I shall ferret out the mystery of Henry Clavering in a week; see if I do not.”

“And how soon,” inquired Mr. Gryce, “may I expect to be allowed to take a hand in the game?”

“As soon as I am reasonably assured that I am upon the right tack.”

“And what will it take to assure you of that?”

“Not much; a certain point settled and——”

“Hold on; who knows but what I can do that for you?” And looking toward the desk which stood in the corner, Mr. Gryce asked me if I would open the top drawer and bring him the bits of partly burned paper which I would find there.

Hastily complying, I brought three or four strips of ragged paper and laid them on the table at his side.

“Another result of Fobbs’s researches under the coal on the first day of the inquest,” shortly exclaimed Mr. Gryce. “You thought the key was all he found. Well, it wasn’t. A second turning over of the coal brought these to light, and very interesting they are, too.”

I immediately bent over the torn and discolored scraps with great anxiety. They were four in number, and appeared at first glance to be the mere remnants of a sheet of common writing-paper, torn lengthwise into strips and twisted up into lighters; but upon closer inspection they showed traces of writing upon one side, and what was more important still, the presence of one or more drops of spattered blood. This latter discovery was horrible to me, and so overcame me for the moment that I put the scraps down, and turning toward Mr. Gryce, inquired:

“What do you make of them?”

“That is just what I was about to inquire of you.”

Swallowing my disgust, I took them up again. “They appear to be the remnants of some old letter,” said I.

“They have that appearance,” Mr. Gryce returned a little grimly.

“A letter which, from the drop of blood observable on the written side, must have been lying face up on Mr. Leavenworth’s table at the time of the murder——”

“Just so.”

“And from the uniformity in width of each of these pieces as well as their tendency to curl up when left alone, been first torn into even strips, and then severally rolled up, before being tossed into the grate where they were afterward found.”

“That is all good,” said Mr. Gryce, “go on.”

“The writing, in so far as it is discernible, is that of a cultivated gentleman; it is not that of Mr. Leavenworth, for I have studied his chirography too much lately not to know it at a glance; but it may be——Hold!” I suddenly exclaimed.

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