At The Villa Rose

There was a rack for note-paper upon the table, and from it he

took a stiff card.

"Get me some gum or paste, and quickly," he said. His voice had

become brusque, the politeness had gone from his address. He

carried the card and the fragments of paper to the round table.

There he sat down and, with infinite patience, gummed the

fragments on to the card, fitting them together like the pieces of

a Chinese puzzle.

The others over his shoulders could see spaced words, written in

pencil, taking shape as a sentence upon the card. Hanaud turned

abruptly in his seat toward Wethermill.

"You have, no doubt, a letter written by Mlle. Celie?"

Wethermill took his letter-case from his pocket and a letter out

of the case. He hesitated for a moment as he glanced over what was

written. The four sheets were covered. He folded back the letter,

so that only the two inner sheets were visible, and handed it to

Hanaud. Hanaud compared it with the handwriting upon the card.

"Look!" he said at length, and the three men gathered behind him.

On the card the gummed fragments of paper revealed a sentence: "Je ne sais pas."

"'I do not know,'" said Ricardo; "now this is very important."

Beside the card Celia's letter to Wethermill was laid.

"What do you think?" asked Hanaud.

Besnard, the Commissaire of Police, bent over Hanaud's shoulder.

"There are strong resemblances," he said guardedly.

Ricardo was on the look-out for deep mysteries. Resemblances were

not enough for him; they were inadequate to the artistic needs of

the situation.

"Both were written by the same hand," he said definitely; "only in

the sentence written upon the card the handwriting is carefully

disguised."

"Ah!" said the Commissaire, bending forward again. "Here is an

idea! Yes, yes, there are strong differences."

Ricardo looked triumphant.

"Yes, there are differences," said Hanaud. "Look how long the up

stroke of the 'p' is, how it wavers! See how suddenly this 's'

straggles off, as though some emotion made the hand shake. Yet

this," and touching Wethermill's letter he smiled ruefully, "this

is where the emotion should have affected the pen." He looked up

at Wethermill's face and then said quietly: "You have given us no opinion, monsieur. Yet your opinion should

be the most valuable of all. Were these two papers written by the

same hand?"

"I do not know," answered Wethermill.

"And I, too," cried Hanaud, in a sudden exasperation, "je ne sais

pas. I do not know. It may be her hand carelessly counterfeited.

It may be her hand disguised. It may be simply that she wrote in a

hurry with her gloves on."

"It may have been written some time ago," said Mr. Ricardo,

encouraged by his success to another suggestion.