“There has been a queer mix-up. These documents can hardly be called forgery, since there is no attempt to imitate the real handwriting of the person who is supposed to have written them. It’s simply a clumsy attempt to deceive, as far as I can see. But the strange thing is that several letters came from New York, apparently, and have never been received. It seems that they must have come through this office and the post-office authorities will be asked to trace them. They are always glad to hear of any irregularities, of 284 course, and will send an expert here, naturally, if mere inquiry does not suffice. Those chaps are wonderfully clever, you know. They seem to be able to find out anything they want to know. The letters I am showing you came through Carcajou, there’s your stamp on the envelopes. The detective will compare this handwriting with that of every man, woman and child in Carcajou and the neighborhood, and while it is certainly disguised, there’s so much of it that they will certainly find out who sent them. It––it’s going to prove devilish tough for somebody, you may be sure. Of course I’m no lawyer and can’t tell what the charge will be, perhaps conspiracy of some sort, or making use of the mails for some fraudulent or––or some prohibited purpose. But that’s evidently no concern of ours and I know you’ll help the authorities to the best of your ability. You will naturally do all you can because no postmaster likes to have any irregularity in his office. That sort of thing generally means taking it away from the holder and putting it in other hands. Your father would be pretty angry if anything like that happened, because while you attend to the mails, he’s really the responsible party.”
Miss Sophy may not have realized how 285 keenly the doctor was looking at her. He was now feeling quite certain that his suspicions had fallen on the guilty party. Here was a jealous woman who evidently knew a good deal. Putting two and two together is the very essence of scientific thought and Dr. Starr was no beginner. Sophy’s foot was beating a rapid tattoo on the floor. On her face the color kept going and coming.
“Somebody has done a very foolish thing,” continued the doctor. “Perhaps it was not realized that it was also a very wicked one. At any rate there is a lot of trouble coming. I will bid you good-day.”
He turned on his heels, lighting the cigar he had bought and looking quite unconcerned. Sophy hastened around the counter and intercepted him at the door, following him out. She touched his arm.
“Do––do they suspect any one?” she asked.
“I think I may have spoken too much, Miss McGurn,” answered the doctor, with a face that had suddenly become exceedingly stern. “It is not for me to answer your question. Of course, it’s in my power to tell the sheriff that there is no longer any suspicion that the shooting was otherwise than accidental, and I could perhaps also persuade 286 Miss Nelson not to follow this matter of the letters any further. I think that she would follow my advice in the matter. But I have no intention of interfering until––until I know everything––down––to––the––last––word!”
He accentuated this by striking with his fist into an open hand, slowly, as if driving in a rebellious spike. They were alone on the little veranda of the store. Within her breast the girl’s heart was throbbing with fear––with the terror of exposure and unknown punishments. She felt that this man knew the exact truth and she had the sensation of some animal cornered and seeing but a single avenue of escape.
“But I have found out everything I wanted to know, Miss McGurn,” Dr. Starr told her, suddenly. “Unless I have a written confession in my hands I shall let matters take their course. It––is––for––you––to––choose.”
He looked at his watch.
“My train should be here in fifteen minutes,” he told her. “After that it will be too late!”