“Anybody could tell,” insisted Elsie. “Wait, I’ll get some letters.”
She ran away to her own room and returned with a packet of them.
Comparison soon made it evident that the note in question was beyond all doubt the work of Webb himself. A thousand little points proved it. Coe was satisfied, and went on with his conclusions from it.
“You see, it proves a whole lot of things,” he cried, jubilantly. “Perhaps your money, enormous sum though it was, bought worthwhile evidence.”
“Such as what?”
“Well, to begin with, we know now that Webb was really abducted, and is now held against his will. This does away with all thought of his having decamped on purpose,—also, to my mind, precludes the theory of his mother or sister being implicated. Miss Webb is a Tartar,—if you ask me! but she never managed the affair of yesterday!”
“No, she never did! Henrietta is not acquainted with those—”
“Loan Sharks! Right! Kimball Webb was carried off by desperate and clever men,—and, here’s a strong point,—he was unconscious when removed from his room.”
“How do you know?”
“Because in this first letter, it says the means used will never be known by any one,—not even himself. So, as I imagined, he was taken from his room,—from his home, while unconscious,—in a drugged sleep probably, and therefore, we must assume a secret entrance!”