“Well, Sanford, is it done?”
“I wish,” said Sanford, as he placed the packet upon the table, “I wish it had never been begun—at least by me.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to believe the evidence of my senses.”
“There’s a sentiment for a detective! Out with it man; what have you found?”
Sanford took two papers from his pocket and held them in his hand irresolutely.
“I hope I am wrong,” he said; “if I am—”
“If you are, it will rest between us two. Out with it, now.”
“There’s only one man among us that I can trace this letter to,” beginning to unfold the troublesome scrawl, “and he—” He opened the second paper and laid it before his Chief.
The latter dropped his eyes to the vexatious paper and said, mechanically: “Vernet!”