He took it, looked at it for a moment, and went on with his questions.
“This envelope has a very crumpled appearance, as well as the letter itself. Were they so when you found them?”
“Yes, not only so, but doubled up as you see.”
“Doubled up? You are sure of that? Folded, sealed, and then doubled up as if her body had rolled across it while alive?”
“Yes.”
“No trickery about it? No look as if the thing had been insinuated there since her death?”
“Not at all. I should rather say that to every appearance she held it in her hand when she lay down, but turning over, dropped it and then laid upon it.”
Mr. Gryce’s eyes, which had been very bright, ominously clouded; evidently he had been disappointed in my answers. Laying the letter down, he stood musing, but suddenly lifted it again, scrutinized the edges of the paper on which it was written, and, darting me a quick look, vanished with it into the shade of the window curtain. His manner was so peculiar, I involuntarily rose to follow; but he waved me back, saying:
“Amuse yourself with that box on the table, which you had such an ado over; see if it contains all we have a right to expect to find in it. I want to be by myself for a moment.”
Subduing my astonishment, I proceeded to comply with his request, but scarcely had I lifted the lid of the box before me when he came hurrying back, flung the letter down on the table with an air of the greatest excitement, and cried: