And, in the background, Keats smoked; and, in the foreground, Alfred Wallace lay under the blanket.
“The question is, of course,” said Ellery, “why the writer of the note avoided using the letter T.
“Let’s see if we can’t reconstruct something useful here.
“How was the original of Leander Hill’s copy written? By hand, or by mechanical means? We have no direct evidence; the note has disappeared. Laurel caught a glimpse of the original when Hill took it from the little silver box, but Hill half-turned away as he read it and Laurel couldn’t specify the character of the writing.
“But the simplest analysis shows the form in which it must have appeared. The letter could not have been handwritten. It is just as easy to write the letter T as any other letter of the alphabet. The writer, considering the theme of his message, could hardly have been playing word games; and no other test but ease or difficulty makes sense.
“If the note wasn’t handwritten, then it was typewritten. You saw that note, Mr. Priam ― Hill showed it to you the morning after his heart attack. Wasn’t it typewritten?”
Priam looked up, frowning in a peculiar way. But he did not answer.
“It was typewritten,” said Ellery. “But the moment you assume a typewritten note, the answer suggests itself. The writer was composing his message on a typewriter. He used no T’s. Why look for complicated reasons? If he used no T’s, it’s simply because T’s were not available to him. He couldn’t use T’s. The T key on the machine he was using wouldn’t function. It was broken.”
Surprisingly, Priam lifted his head and said, “You’re guessing.”
Ellery looked pained. “I’m not trying to prove how clever I am, Mr. Priam, but I must object to your verb. Guessing is as obnoxious to me as swearing is to a bishop. I submit that I worked this out; I’ve had little enough fun in this case! But let’s assume it’s a guess. It’s a very sound guess, Mr. Priam, and it has the additional virtue of being susceptible to confirmation.