“Anyone see you do it?”
“I suppose so. I guess there were fellows around.”
“Hm. Who do you know at Kenwood, Bates?”
“No one, sir.”
“Positive? I understand that you have corresponded with someone there quite regularly since you came here.”
“That’s not so, Mr. Driscoll. I’ve never written a letter to Kenwood Academy in my life and I don’t know anyone who goes there. I suppose what happened is that the piece of my letter and the piece of envelope happened to be found together. Who found them, sir?”
Mr. Driscoll shook his head. “I agreed not to bring him into it, Bates. There’s no reason why I should. He has, I guess, no wish to appear in the rôle of a spy. He found this evidence and handed it over to me as it was his duty to. I wish——” He fell silent, frowning at the two scraps of paper. Then: “Are you a rapid writer, Bates?” he asked.
“Not very, I guess.”
The coach took a pad of paper from the desk beside him and a fountain pen from his pocket. “Suppose you write what I tell you to on that,” he said. Dick laid the pad on his knee and waited. “Ready? Write ‘Massachusetts Academy Kenwood,’ please.”
Dick wrote and the coach accepted the result and viewed it intently. Then he shook his head. “Your K and your A aren’t like the others, Bates, but there’s a certain similarity. Honestly, I don’t know what to think. I want to believe you, my boy, but this—this evidence is rather convincing. Look here, can you prove to my satisfaction that this letter was intended for this friend in Loganville and not meant for someone at Kenwood?”