As he suspected, the writing was in a lady’s chirography—so many ladies write alike, as though taught by a certain school, that individuality is lost.
This is what the detective read, and it opened his eyes in an astonishing manner:
“My beloved Paul—I consent at last to your proposition—in flight alone we can be safe. I shall be ready when you come to take me. He will be like a tiger let loose—I know his passion. I believe he would have killed me ere now had he suspected our secret. Carry out your plan—I understand, and am willing to fly from an uncongenial home to the one you will make for me.
With love, your own
L.”
That was all. Heaven knows it was enough. Darrell let the paper drop on the table with a sharp cry of pain.
“Poor Joe! poor honest old Joe! You thought you were deceiving your wife past forgiveness because you chose to smoke a pipe in secret, and here she conspires to leave you in the lurch. Joe is the ogre referred to, savage as a tiger. Woman—well, I’ll be hanged if I want to know her sister after all. I never was so deceived in all my life. It is a shame—an accursed shame, and that villain shall pay dearly for it all.”
Then he examined the note again, endeavoring to read between the lines.
His indignation grew apace.
Joe had proven himself pure gold, and he had more confidence in him than ever, but there was something here that needed investigation, and the case looked black for Lillian.
The note was signed with an L.
However, Darrell, always cautious, was not ready to condemn without a hearing—what he had already seen this night taught him the fallacy of circumstantial evidence.