“Apparently the telegram was a fake,” admitted Kent. “The Cleveland police report that he is not at the address given in the telegram.”
“But who could have an object in sending such a telegram?” asked Barbara slowly.
“Rochester, in the hope of throwing the police off his track, if he really killed Jimmie.” Kent looked straight at Helen. “It was while searching our office safe for trace of Rochester's present address that Ferguson obtained possession of your sealed envelope.”
Helen plucked nervously at the ribbon on her gown. “Did the detective open the envelope” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive; the red seal was unbroken.”
“Tell us how the envelope came to be stolen from you,” coaxed Barbara.
“We were in the little smoking porch off the dining room at the Club de Vingt.” Barbara smiled her remembrance of it, and motioned Kent to continue. “Ferguson had just put down the envelope on the table and I started to pick it up when cheering in the dining room distracted my attention and I, with the others, went to see what it was about. When I returned to the porch the envelope was no longer on the table.”
“Who were with you?” questioned Helen.