“I do not know, chief, what to say regarding that letter. It was written on this machine, however.”
There came a grunt from the chief, and the words:
“It was?”
“Yes. There is no doubt of it. This machine is a bit out of alignment; the letters ‘e’ and ‘a’ are very much worn. You will find the same markings in the letter you found on the desk and in the copy I struck off.”
A comparison of the two sheets of paper convinced the chief and me that they had, indeed, been written upon the same typewriter, the one upon the stand before us. The letters Bartley mentioned were a little worn and both copies showed the same markings. Not only that, the ribbon was rather old, and the type bars seemed out of alignment. As we saw these facts, the chief well expressed my opinion when he said in a very amazed voice:
“I guess you are right. But what under heavens does it mean?”
Bartley reached for his cigar case, and then he handed it to us. We all took a cigar and after Bartley had lighted his he said:
“I can only tell you what I think it might mean, Chief. The letter was written after Warren was killed—written to be discovered.”
“How do you make that out?” was the query.
“Well, it seems very logical to say that if the person who wrote it had not wished any one to see it, he or she would have destroyed the entire letter. To simply tear off the signature—if there was one—meant nothing. If they wished to have no one see the letter they would have destroyed it all. Then, it is written on this typewriter. The secretary says that no one was in the library during the time she was here on that last day. I do not think she wrote it; the murderer might have done so, and if so, he wrote it to make you think just what you did think.”