I stooped and picked up the fragments.
"You forget," said I, "this letter may be called for by the coroner. It is known that I took it in charge."
"I might better have burnt it," she hissed.
"Not so, I should then have had to explain its loss."
Her old fear came back into her eyes.
"Now I have merely to give it up and leave it to Mr. Dwight Pollard to explain it. He doubtless can."
"My son will never betray his mother."
"Yet he could write this letter."
She frowned.
"Dwight has his weakness," said she.