“I’m not at all sure that that explains it,” Nick replied dryly. “What have you there?”
“Fragments of a letter from the waste basket, also the torn envelope in which it came,” said Patsy. “It is written in French.”
“I thought you said, Mrs. Lord, that Miss Perrot has received no letters while here?” said Nick, turning to the waiting landlady. “My assistant has found one in her wastebasket.”
“I meant, sir, that she was not in the habit of receiving letters,” Mrs. Lord hastened to explain. “A letter did come for her two days ago. It was taken in and brought up to her by my servant. I really had forgotten it.”
“I understand,” smiled Nick. “I must ask you to wait, however, while I unite these fragments, so I can read the letter.”
“I am in no hurry, sir.”
“Written in French, eh?” Nick muttered, while he and Patsy seated themselves at a table. “We soon can patch it together. It may provide a clew to the girl’s identity.”
“That was my idea, chief,” nodded Patsy. “There is nothing doing in the desk. I have searched it thoroughly.”
“Is there paste in the desk?”
“Yes.”