“Yes. There had been certain things which hadn’t been exactly... consistent with the character he had assumed. Since our marriage, I had found myself watching him with a vague uneasiness, because the man simply didn’t fit into the character of a failure. He was a man who couldn’t have failed at anything in life; he had too much quiet force of character, too much intelligence, too much native shrewdness; and he seemed too reluctant to touch any of my money. He kept putting that off, saying that he had a little money of his own saved up, and that we’d use that to live on until it was gone, and then he’d take mine.”
“But you didn’t suspect that he really had great wealth?” Mason asked.
“No,” she said, “I hadn’t crystallized any of the doubts in my mind into even being doubts. They were simply little things which remained lodged in my memory, and then, when I saw his picture in the paper, and read the account of his death, those things all clicked into place. I’d been prepared for it in a way when I read in the morning paper about the mountain cabin... and saw the photographs of that cabin.”
“Of course,” Mason said, “you’d been without letters for the past week?”
“On the contrary,” she said, “I had received a letter from him only this Saturday, the tenth. It had been mailed from Santa Delbarra. He said he was negotiating for a lease on what seemed to be an ideal storeroom. He seemed to be very enthusiastic, and said he hoped to be back within a few days.”
“I presume,” Mason said, “you aren’t entirely familiar with his handwriting, and...”
“I feel quite certain,” she said, “that the writing is that of Mr. Sabin... or George Wallman, as I knew him.”
“But,” Mason said, “the evidence shows that the body was lying in that cabin — you’ll forgive me for being brutally frank, Miss Monteith, but it’s necessary — the evidence shows that he was murdered on September sixth.”
“Can’t you understand?” she said wearily. “He was testing my love. He wanted to keep in the character of Wallman until he knew I loved him and wasn’t after money. He wasn’t looking for any lease. He planted these letters and left them to be mailed from various places on different dates.”
“You have that last letter?” Mason asked.