I took the envelope from my pocket, showed it to young Whitewell, and asked, “Is this her handwriting?”
He took the envelope in eager fingers, stood looking down at it with expression veiled out of his eyes.
“That’s her writing,” he said at length.
Whitewell, Senior, grabbed at the envelope. “You were right, Mrs. Cool,” he said, “the boy’s a fast worker.”
“I told you he was.”
Whitewell ran his fingers down inside the envelope. There was a puzzled look on his face when he failed to find a letter.
“Wasn’t there a letter in this?” he asked.
“I guess so.”
“But that would have been a clue.”
I nodded.