Miss Petunia arose with a simper, and Mr. Gubb arose to open the door for her. He felt particularly gracious. Never in his career had he been able to apply the inductive system before, and he was well pleased with himself. His somewhat melancholy eyes almost beamed on Miss Petunia, and he felt a warm glow in his heart for the poor little thing who had come to him in her trouble. As he stood waiting for Miss Scroggs to gather up her feather boa and her parasol and her black hand-bag, he felt the dangerous pity of the strong for the weak.
Miss Petunia held out her hand with a pretty gesture. She was fully forty-five, but she was kittenish for her age. There was something almost girlish in her manner, and the long, dancing brown curls that hung below her very youthful hat added to the effect. When she had shaken Mr. Gubb’s hand she half-skipped, half-minced out of his office.
“An admirable creature,” said Mr. Gubb to himself, and he turned to his microscope and began to study the ink of the letters under that instrument. His next work must be to find the identical ink and the identical writing-paper. He had no doubt he would find them in Mrs. Canterby’s home. The ink was a pale blue in places, deepening to a strong blue in other places, with grainy blue specks. He decided, rightly, that this “ink” had been made of laundry blue. The paper was plain note-paper, glossy of surface and with blue lines, and, in the upper left corner, the maker’s impress. This was composed of three feathers with the word “Excellent” beneath. The envelopes were of the proper size to receive the letters. They bore an unmistakable odor of toilet soap and chewing-gum.
“Dusenberry!” said Mr. Gubb, and smiled.
Hod Dusenberry kept a small store near the home of Mrs. Canterby. There seemed no doubt that the coils of the investigation were tightening around Mrs. Canterby, and Mr. Gubb put on his hat and went out. He went to Hod Dusenberry’s store. Mr. Dusenberry sat behind the counter.
“I came in,” said Mr. Gubb, “to purchase a bottle of ink off of you.”
“There, now!” said Mr. Dusenberry self-accusingly. “That’s the third call for ink I’ve had in less’n two months. I been meanin’ to lay in more ink right along and it allus slips my mind. I told Miss Scroggs when she asked for ink—”
“And what did you tell Mrs. Canterby when she asked for ink?” asked Mr. Gubb.
“Mrs. Canterby?” said Hod Dusenberry. “Maybe I ought to see the joke, but I’m feelin’ stupid to-day, I reckon. What’s the laugh part?”