"It might be well, too," Hatch suggested, "to see if you can find the letter you mentioned."
The girl nodded and went out. When she returned she had a photograph in her hand; a glimpse of it told Hatch it was a bust picture of a woman in evening dress. The girl was studying a scrap of paper.
"What is it?" asked Hatch, quickly.
"I don't know," she responded. "I was searching for the letter when I remembered she frequently tore them up and dropped them into the waste-basket. It had been emptied every day, but I looked and found this clinging to the bottom, caught between the cane."
"May I see it?" asked the reporter.
The girl handed it to him. It was evidently a piece of a letter torn from the outer edge just where the paper was folded to put it into the envelope. On it were these words and detached letters, written in a bold hand:
sday
ill you
to the
ho
Hatch's eyes opened wide.
"Do you know the handwriting?" he asked.
The girl faltered an instant.