“Statement? Is this a yellow journal trap?”
“As a courtesy to Mr. Robinson, I’ll explain. How long have you lived in the Caronia, Mr. Robinson?”
“About eight months.”
“Then, some three or four months before you moved in, another William H. Robinson lived there for a short time. His middle name was Honeywell. He is a cousin, and an object of great solicitude to this gentleman here. In fact, he is, or will be, the chief witness against Mr. Honeywell in his effort to break the famous Holden Honeywell will, disposing of some ten million dollars. Am I right, Mr. Honeywell?”
“Thus far,” replied the blind man composedly.
“Five years ago William Honeywell Robinson became addicted to a patent headache ‘dope.’ It ended, as such habits do, in insanity. He was confined two years, suffering from psychasthenia, with suicidal melancholia and delusion of persecution. Then he was released, cured, but with a supersensitive mental balance.”
“Then the messages were intended to drive him out of his mind again,” said Bertram in sudden enlightenment. “What a devil!”
“Either that, or to impel him, by suggestion, to suicide or to revert to the headache powders, which would have meant the asylum again. Anything to put him out of the way, or to make his testimony incompetent for the will contest. So, when the ex-lunatic returned from Europe a year ago, our friend Honeywell here, in some way located him at the Caronia. He matured his little scheme. Through a letter broker who deals with the rag and refuse collectors, he got all the second-hand mail from the Caronia. Meantime, William Honeywell Robinson had moved away, and as chance would have it, William Hunter Robinson moved in, receiving the pinprick letters which, had they reached their goal, would probably have produced the desired effect.”
“If they drove a sane man nearly crazy, what wouldn’t they have done to one whose mind wasn’t quite right!” cried the wronged Robinson.
“But since Mr. Honeywell is blind,” said Bertram, “how could he see to erase the cancellations?”