“They are, and the address on all is the same—Markenmore Vicarage.”
“What are the dates?”
“Only one bears any definite date—New Year’s Eve, 1904. The others are dated Monday, or Wednesday, or Friday, as the case may be. But each is in its envelope, and the postal marks are of the year I have just mentioned—1904, and the following year, 1905.”
“Anything else in that pocket-book?”
“Yes. Two locks of hair—evidently the same hair—folded in tissue paper, and a small lace-bordered handkerchief.”
“Since finding these things, Blick, have you shown them to any one?”
“Yes. After consulting with the Chief Constable, I showed them to Mrs. Tretheroe, at her house, yesterday. On seeing them, she said the seven letters were written by her to Mr. Guy Markenmore some years ago, that the two locks of hair were given by her to him, about the same time, and that the handkerchief was certainly hers—she fancied that he must have stolen it from her at some time or other.”
“Now the letter-case. What did you find in that?”
“Two business letters, of recent date, referring to some ordinary share transactions. A receipted bill for a lunch for two persons at the Carlton Hotel, in London; date, April 3rd last. One letter of a private nature; an invitation to dinner. Two receipts from Bond Street tradesmen—one, a jeweller, the other a bookseller. And, in an inner compartment, a letter in its original envelope, addressed to Guy Markenmore, Markenmore Court, Selcaster, and signed John Harborough.”
“Is that letter in the case now, there, before you?”