He drew forth the other letter; then, with a swift catching of the breath, stood staring stupidly from one to the other. For a second he did not move. He could not believe this odd coincidence. He held the two sheets to the light. The watermarks were identical. He lowered the sheets and examined them intently. In size, color, texture, quality they could not have been more alike had they come from the same box.
What did it mean?
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
IN CAPITALS OF RED.
In a moment Barry had recovered himself. After all, the sheets being identical did not prove that they had come from the same shop. No doubt there were hundreds of stores in New York which kept that kind of paper in stock. It was an odd coincidence, that was all.
"This is the sort I want," he said quietly, meeting the girl's curious glance with indifference. "About two quires will be enough—with one package of envelopes."
His perfect ease of manner seemed to reassure her, and she glanced at the paper he held out, then shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm afraid I can't give you even a quire," she said, reaching up to a shelf behind her and taking down a box. "I noticed when I sold a sheet and envelope this afternoon that there were only a few left."
"This afternoon!" Lawrence exclaimed, with well-simulated surprise. "I wonder if it could have been my friend Davis, who wrote this letter? Was he tall and slim and dark?"
"That's him," the girl answered. "He was dressed swell, too, and wore a high hat."