"You don't mean to say that these things were written and put about before the date you see on them."
"But I do. Would we have noticed since? But who are you, sir, if I may ask? One of them detective fellows? If so, I have a word to say: Find that child or Mrs. Ocumpaugh's blood will be on your head! She'll not live till Mr. Ocumpaugh comes home unless she can show him his child."
"Wait!" I called out, for he was turning away toward the stable. "You know who wrote those slips?"
"Not a bit of it. No one does. Not that anybody thinks much about them but me."
"The police must," I ventured.
"May be, but they don't say anything about it. Somehow it looks to me as if they were all at sea."
"Possibly they are," I remarked, letting him go as I caught sight of a small boy coming up the road with several telegrams in his hand.
"Is one of those directed to Robert Trevitt?" I asked, crowding up with the rest, as his small form was allowed to slip through the gate.
"Spec's there is," he replied, looking them over and handing me one.
I carried it to one side and hastily tore it open. It was, as I expected, from my partner, and read as follows: