“Miss Bower? So it was you who telephoned? Come in, by all means.”
Though he tried to speak pleasantly, there was a marked lack of cordiality in his voice.
“As a matter of fact I am very busy this evening,” he went on, “but of course, if you’ve anything important to say, I will see you now for a few minutes, rather than to-morrow morning in my chambers.”
But as he ushered her into the sitting room, the lawyer reasserted himself, and the mere man disappeared.
“And now, Miss Bower, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve found out that Agatha Cheale wrote those anonymous letters. I think you will agree that this piece of paper provides the proof.”
Sir Harold scrutinized closely the watermark which had been so carefully drawn in on the facsimile of the first anonymous letter. Then he held the thin piece of foreign paper up to the lamp.
“Yes—there’s no doubt about it,” he said decisively.
Jean looked at him anxiously. She had felt so absolutely sure that he would be overjoyed at her discovery. Instead of that there was a grim, almost an angry, expression on his broad face.
“I fear that I am going to give you a shock, Miss Bower. The whole situation has been changed most seriously to our detriment by the fact that arsenic has been found in a house actually belonging to Mr. Garlett.”