“Was the letter addressed, Miss Woodhull? It was not even in an envelope when it came into my possession.”
“You have no doubt destroyed the envelope. Nevertheless, I must insist upon knowing who wrote that letter.”
“I cannot tell you, Miss Woodhull. I have never looked at the signature.”
“How dare you resort to such fencing with me? You cannot evade a direct answer, for I have resolved to learn the writer’s name, and report him to the principal of his school,” asserted Miss Woodhull, jumping at conclusions.
“I cannot tell you the writer’s name.”
“You mean that you will not. But, I warn you, this obstinacy only adds to the gravity of the situation.”
“It is not obstinacy, Miss Woodhull; I do not know it.”
“Yet you admit having had this open letter in your possession and insist that it is not your own? A curious combination, to say the least,” was the sarcastic retort.
“I had the letter, but it is not mine. I never read it, and I do not know the writer’s name.” This was entirely true, Beverly had never heard dear “Reggie’s” surname.
“Perhaps you are likewise ignorant of the identity of the two people who masqueraded as Tweedle-dee and Jack o’ Lantern?”