By that time I had exhausted the news possibilities of the newspapers and was left to the real estate columns. “Which was better for a young couple, a small apartment in the city or a suburban home?” That was a question which made even the flamboyant advertisements of farthest Suburbia a matter of deep and abiding interest to me. I was half through the columns when, to my joy and surprise, the door opened, and Dorothy entered, followed by Tom and the lawyer. At her coming, the nodding court officer roused and became a model of soldierly deportment, the secret service men straightened in their chairs, the judge felt of his tie and rose hastily to offer a seat beside him with a courtly bow. Gracious and stately, Dorothy bowed to him, but she came to me.
“Oh, Jim,” she said, in a low voice, “what a shame. I am so glad I was here to help.”
I passed the gap from Miss Haldane to Dorothy at a bound. “Dorothy,” I answered, “I’m so glad you were.”
After that how little mattered the long weary afternoon. It took but a few minutes to arrange a closet off the judge’s room for the exhibition of the evidence. As Dorothy brought forth the letter which had been the forerunner of three mighty tragedies, the judge asked to see it, and read it curiously.
“And there is a second letter below this, Miss Haldane?” he queried.
“Yes,” answered Dorothy, “I have seen it.”
“Have you had this in your possession ever since the night’s meeting of which your brother and Mr. Orrington spoke?” he asked again.
“It has been in my personal possession, or in a locked drawer of my own, in a locked safe in my own house,” replied Dorothy. “I asked Mr. Orrington for it, as I intended to make some tests with my brother on the ink. We have, however, not used it as yet.”
“You are ready to swear that this is the original letter?”
“I am,” said Dorothy calmly.