“No evidence as to whom it’s addressed, Bill. We can only conjecture as to that. Also we can only surmise what the capital ‘B’ stands for.”
“What do you think yourself?” I whispered almost fearfully.
“Billiard room, possibly! On the other hand——”
“If it was her way of answering his proposal—why wasn’t she frank with us about it? Did she meet him or merely intend to?”
“Look at the handwriting again, Bill! Look at it closely.”
I did as he told me. “You’re absolutely certain it’s Mary Considine’s writing?” he urged with intensity in his tone. “You haven’t the shred of a doubt?”
“Not a shred,” I replied. “Not the vestige of a doubt.”
“Very well! I’ll see her! I’m pretty accurate at summing people up psychologically, and I’m fully prepared for an adequate explanation.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” I said. “Somehow it goes against the grain to have Mary implicated in this business, even though remotely.”
“How came you to look under there, Bill?” he asked suddenly.