“Proceed.”
“It seemed as though fate had been pleased to conspire against my peace of mind. I picked up a piece of paper from the floor to toss into the grate in the library when certain words caught my eye, and instead I put it in my pocket.”
“When was this?”
“Last evening.”
“Have you the paper still?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it, if you have no objection.”
“Certainly not. I want everything to be placed before you now.”
“Everything but your own secret,” thought the detective, as he took the paper.
It was evidently a portion of a torn note and had been twisted around.