“Now, where’s your file of personal letters?”
“I’m afraid I don’t get the idea,” Belder said.
“I want to check over your personal correspondence,” Bertha told him. “I think you have a clue there.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Bertha said, “Most people don’t know it, but typewriting is even more distinctive than handwriting. An expert can tell from the type face just what make and model of a typewriter was used to write any message. I can’t go that far, but I’m pretty certain this letter was written on a portable typewriter. I have an idea I’ll find a clue either in the personal correspondence you receive, or in some letter that Nunnely wrote you.”
“He never wrote me. I’m telling you he made this demand out of a clear sky and then got judgment, and—”
“That judgment is predicated on some business dealings?”
“Yes.”
“Dealings he claims were crooked?”
“Well — fraudulent. Just a dirty damn legal technicality which enabled him to claim fraud and that I was an involuntary trustee, or something of the sort of a fund which— However, if you want to see my personal correspondence, Mrs. Cool, we’ll get it for you.”