“The Fireless Stove drummer who smokes Villar y Villar cigars? He is in it, I think, Birdsall.”
“Well, I’ll assume that. Next thing: you get the telephone call. And you say the voice sounded chipper; didn’t look like he was being hurt or bothered anyway, did it?”
“Not at all. Besides, you know the letter Miss Smith got this morning?”
“I think I’d like another peek at that; will you drive her a minute, while I look at the letter again?” The instant his hands were free Birdsall pulled out the envelope from his leather-rimmed pocket.
It was rectangular in shape and smaller than the ordinary business envelope. The paper was linen of a common diamond pattern, having no engraved heading. The detective ran his eyes down the few lines written in an unformed boyish hand. There was neither date nor place; only these words:
Dear Miss Janet—Don’t you or auntie be woried about me because I am well and safe and having a good time. I had the nose bleed that is why I spoted the carpet. Tell Auntie to please pay for it out of my next week’s allowance. Be sure and don’t wory.
Your aff. friend,
Archibald Page Winter.
“You’re sure this is the boy’s writing?” was the detective’s comment.
“Sure. And his spelling, too.”
“Now,” said Birdsall, watching the colonel’s keen, aquiline profile as he spoke, “now you notice there’s no heading or mark on the paper; and the water-mark is only O. K. E., Mass., 1904. And that amounts to nothing; those folks sell all over the country. But you notice that it is not the ordinary business paper; it looks rather ladylike than commercial, doesn’t it?”