“Denny!” McCarty gazed wide-eyed at his confrère. “By the powers, I wonder if you’ve hit it! If Snape’s held anything back he’ll come across with it now! Are you sure there are no more ‘Truda’ letters except the two?”
“Not here, but you’ve not gone through all yours yet.” Dennis reminded him.
McCarty fell upon the few that remained and running hastily over them seized on one with an exclamation of satisfaction. It died upon his lips as he ran his eye down the page and then glanced up at Dennis’ tense face.
“Listen you to this!” he said impressively. “’Tis short but tells more than the other two put together.—‘Friend Alfred Hughes. To you I have tried to be kind but it is not good. Now I say that if you should write again I shall tell it to my husband that you are made to stop. He knows already you bother me, but comes any more letters and he will the street go over to make of you sausage meat. It is enough. Truda L.’—And ’tis dated just four days ago! Do you get it, Denny?”
“Only that the husband works near, but we learned that much before—”
“‘Near?’” McCarty interrupted. “He’s across the street! Didn’t Sloane say his old father was an invalid with a male nurse that was a Swede and spoke little English? Come on! It’s back we’ll be going to the New Queen’s Mall!”
Dennis was overwhelmed with the importance of their discovery and ventured only one question when they stood again at the entrance gate.
“How’ll we start in on him?”
“On who?”
“The Swede at Sloane’s. We’ll have to find out first if his last name begins with ‘L.’”