The two white men exclaimed with amazement at the Indian’s statement.
“I think,” said Natachee slowly, “that you would do well to see what this thing is, that the stealer of little girls hid so carefully under his clothing and fastened so securely to his body.”
Hugh Edwards drew back with an appealing look at Saint Jimmy, who took the packet from the Indian.
“Must this thing be opened?” said Edwards.
“Yes, Hugh, I think so,” returned the Doctor gently. “Anything else would hardly be fair to Marta, would it?”
“No, I suppose not,” answered Edwards with a groan. “All right, go ahead. You can tell me when you have finished.”
He turned away and went to the window where he sat with his back toward Saint Jimmy, who seated himself at the table. Natachee stood near the door with his arms folded, as motionless as a statue.
Undoing the lacing of the leather envelope, Saint Jimmy found a number of newspaper clippings, so cut as to preserve the name and date line of the paper—several letters—and a diary, with various entries under different dates, rather poorly written but legible.
Swiftly he scanned the printed articles. The diary and the letters he read with more care.
Hugh Edwards was like a man condemned already in his own mind, awaiting the formality of the verdict.