“A bit of paper I found while you was talkin’ here. Picked it up from under the box.”
It was a strip of writing paper which Will handed the officer, seemingly a fragment of a letter.
The latter examined it by the light of the lamp. It contained a few lines of writing.
His countenance changed as he slowly read the faintly-written correspondence.
“Read it,” said the officer, handing it to Mr. Leonard.
“—— Monday, at sharp 8. Black-eyed Joe’s mill the crib. The swag is safe, and samples put out. They are fighting shy. Now’s our time to shove, before the scent gets hot. J. P.”
“I didn’t ask you to read it aloud,” said Mr. Fitler. “Such information had best not get to too many ears.”
“Information?” repeated Mr. Leonard. “A riddle, I should call it.”
“It is a riddle with an easy key,” said the officer, dryly. “I wish I knew who Black-eyed Joe was. I never heard of that gentleman before. Where did you get this, Will?”
“Just under the edge of the dry-goods box there.”