Mr. Clive unlaced his finger-tips and took the papers carefully from his visitor; after which, rather to Anstice's amusement, he removed his eyeglasses and proceeded to study the letters without their aid.
For several minutes he pored over them in silence, the letters spread out on the table before him; and Anstice, watching, could make nothing of the inscrutable expression on his face. Presently he rose, went to a little cabinet at the end of the room, and took from it a small magnifying glass, with whose aid he made a further study of the two documents; after which he resumed his eyeglasses and turned to Anstice with a smile.
"Your little problem is quite simple, Dr. Anstice," he said amiably. "As soon as I looked at these letters I guessed them to be the work of one hand. With the help of my glass I know my guess to be correct."
For a moment Anstice could not tell whether he were relieved or disappointed by this confirmation of his own suspicions; but the expert did not wait for his comments.
"If you will look through the glass you will see that the similarities in many of the letters are so striking that there is really no possible question as to their being written by one hand." He pushed the papers and glass across to Anstice, who obediently bent over the table and studied the letters as they lay before him. "For instance"—Clive moved to Anstice's side and, leaning over his shoulder, pointed with a slim finger—"that 'I' in India is identical with the one with which this letter opens; and that 's' with its curly tail could not possibly have been traced by any hand save that which wrote this one. There are other points of resemblance—the spaces between the words, for instance—which prove conclusively, to my mind at least, that the letters are the work of one person; but I expect you have already formed an opinion of your own on the subject."
"Yes," said Anstice. "To be frank, I have. I was quite sure in my own mind that they were written by one person; but I wanted an expert opinion. And now the only thing to be discovered is—who is that person?"
Clive smiled.
"That is a different problem—and a more difficult one," he said quietly. "These anonymous letters are very often exceedingly hard nuts to crack. But probably you have someone in your mind's eye already."
"No," said Anstice quickly, moved by a sudden desire to enlist this man's sympathy and possible help. "I'm completely in the dark. But I intend to find out who wrote these things. I suppose"—for a second he hesitated—"I suppose it isn't in your province to give me any possible clue as to the identity of the writer?"
The other laughed rather dryly.