“Now you have gone,” said Pearson, “I will take care of those torn pieces of paper. Here is an envelope addressed to the place where Clarence committed the murder, and here is all of the letter. Now I’ll see what was the cause for rush.”
The letter ran as follows:
“I am writing you for help in looking up the case of a convict by the name of Clarence Pearson. I have every reason to believe that he is innocent of the crime for which he is serving sentence. Wire me if you have a name in the directory of your city like this: Devenart. If there is such a man, hold him for murder.”
“My God!” gasped Pearson. “What does this mean? I am lost. I feel that they will find him innocent, and I guilty of crime; and I have sworn to the death of Clarence, so that I might receive his share of the estate. Now it is all to come out.”
“Well,” said Pat, “I met the officer, and he told me to clean up around and destroy the papers he has written on, and I don’t see any.”
“I had nothing to do and I put things in order,” said Pearson.
“Where did you throw the scraps?”
“I put them in the fire.”
“Did you lave the office to do it?”