“Because then I’d be such a perfect jackass that I could win medals at a show. I ought to have guessed it at first glance, from the fact that the advertisement couldn’t well have been mailed to Robinson originally, anyhow.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s not in the sporting-goods business, and the advertisement is obviously addressed to the retail trade. Don’t you remember: it offers a showcase, free. What does a man living in an apartment want of a show-case to keep artificial bait in? What we—er—need here is—er—steam.”
A moment’s manipulation of the radiator produced a small jet. In this Average Jones held the envelope. The stamp curled tip and dropped off. Beneath it were the remains of a small portion of a former postmark.
“I thought so,” murmured Average Jones.
“Remailed!” exclaimed Bertram.
“Remailed,” corroborated his friend. “I expect we’ll find the others the same.”
One by one he submitted the envelopes to the steam bath. Each of them, as the stamp was peeled off, exhibited more or less fragmentary signs of a previous cancellation.
“Careless work,” criticized Average Jones. “Every bit of the mark should have been removed, instead of trusting to the second stamp to cover what little was left, by shifting it a bit toward the center of the envelope. Look; you can see on this one where the original stamp was peeled off. On this the traces of erasure are plain enough. That’s why Manila paper was selected: it’s easier to erase from.”
“Is Robinson faking?” asked Bertram. “Or has some one been rifling his waste-basket?”