“Eleven,” she explained, “and this burnt envelope is twelve, and this last letter makes a total of thirteen unimportant letters.”
“What then?” asked Trenholm, struck by her manner. Going around the table he stood looking over her shoulder.
“Have you noticed the postage?” she queried.
“Surely. They are Canadian stamps.”
“Isn’t postage from Canada three cents for first-class mail?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does each letter bear five one-cent stamps?” glancing swiftly upward. “Boris Zybinn must have known the correct postage required.”
“Perhaps he thought that his letters weighed more than one ounce.”
“If so, the postage would have been double, or six cents,” she remarked quickly. “Five cents would not have covered it. Besides, I don’t believe that one of these letters weighs over an ounce.”
Trenholm reached over and picked up his letter scales. “Try one,” he suggested, and, as she did so, “Not quite one ounce. Try the next.”