As the detective moved about the apartment, his activity seemed to arouse the others from the half-stupefied state into which they had lapsed. Beard, who had remained standing as if petrified by the tragic turn of events, suddenly regained his faculties and gazed apprehensively at the officers.
With studied deliberation Britz disregarded his presence in the room and continued to busy himself with an examination of the contents of a small writing table that stood in an angle of the wall.
Evidently drawing courage from Britz's preoccupation and from the bewildered inactivity of the other officers, Beard bent forward until his hand touched the floor, and, after groping for an instant beneath the head of the couch, again drew himself to an erect posture.
"I'll take that paper!" Britz's voice broke the silence.
A tremor shook Beard's frame, while the blood drained from his face. Then, a rebellious impulse against the detective's calm assertion of authority possessing him, he made a bold effort to destroy the paper he had picked off the floor.
But Britz was prepared to anticipate the move. Leaping forward he seized the other's wrists in an iron grip that caused Beard to groan with pain.
"Greig, take the letter out of this man's hand!" called the detective.
It was not necessary, however, to employ further violence, for the secretary announced his willingness to relinquish the note. Evidently it had been written in a hurry, under stress of excitement, and was as follows:
"My Dear Julia:
"Don't permit your anger to tempt you into any rash act. There is no reconciliation. My wife's return is but a sham, designed to avoid a great deal of unpleasantness. Mr. Whitmore's death has not changed matters. Follow Mr. Beard's instructions and I shall carry out faithfully my promise to you.