“Well, for certain reasons that I won’t name. Take that other pen, please, and use the ink from this smaller bottle.”
“Aren’t you rather fussy?” grunted Wolfe, as he complied. “Where do you want me to write and what do you want me to write?”
“Write here,” indicated Mike. “Write these words: ‘Witness for M. J. Lynch.’ Then sign your name.”
Bern followed instructions, and then paused, with pen suspended.
“Hey? What’s this?” he muttered, staring at the exposed line of writing. “What’s this about ‘a full and complete confession?’”
“That’s all right,” said Lynch, hastily catching up the sheets of paper. “Don’t be such a rubberneck, Bern.”
Having made sure that the ink was dry upon the paper, Mike carefully placed the sheets together, folded them, and slipped them into an envelope.
“Now, if you’ll let me sit there a moment, Wolfe,” he suggested.
Once more sitting down, Lynch addressed the envelope, using the ink from the larger bottle. Bern peered inquisitively over Mike’s shoulder.
“Eh?” he ejaculated. “Richard Merriwell? Say, what the dickens are you writing to Dick Merriwell?”