“You can see how it was put together. It must have taken hours for its sender to cut all kinds of letters from a printed newspaper, and slowly and patiently paste them onto that blank sheet. Letter by letter he built up those words and sentences.”
Frank once more read over the letter in his hands, which ran:
“tell frAnk newTon Money is beHind coAl BoX, thiRd flooR, YoUr buiLDiNg—mARkHAm.”
“Well,” resumed Darry, “Bob and I went up stairs here at once. None of the offices on the third floor has been occupied for a long time. In the hall is a big box with a slanting cover, to hold fuel for tenants in winter time. Everything was dirty, and plainly across the dusty box cover it showed where someone had recently rested, or been pushed over against the wall. We pulled out the box. Sure enough, in the four-inch space behind the box was your money.”
“Then a hot wire, and here you are,” observed Bob briskly.
“See here, fellows,” said Frank, “I think I can figure this thing out.”
“Go ahead,” encouraged Darry.
“Markham sent that letter. He didn’t write, because he had no pencil. A pencil is usually an easy thing to get, so he must have been shut up somewhere. He found in his pocket a sheet of paper—”
“Oh, by the way,” here interrupted Darry, “I forgot to explain something. I recognize the sheet of paper as a blank sample I gave Markham, enclosed in that same envelope, stamped, to give to Mr. Dawes up at the novelty works when he went there again. Mr. Dawes asked for a sample of one linen letter paper. If he wanted a lot, he was to write the amount on the sheet, and mail to us.”