“Oh, yes. He told me last night that everything would be finished this week. He seemed quite satisfied.”
The Inspector paused to make a note.
Then he thrust a hand into the side-pocket of his tunic and produced Hartley Parrish’s letter.
“This,” he said, eyeing the girl as he handed her the letter, “may throw some light on the affair!”
Open-eyed, a little surprised, she took the plain white envelope from his hand and gazed an instant without speaking, on the bold sprawling address—
“Miss Mary Trevert.”
“Open it, please,” said the Inspector gently.
The girl tore open the envelope. Humphries saw her eyes fill, watched the emotion grip her and shake her in her self-control so that she could not speak when, her reading done, she gave him back the letter.
Without asking her permission, he took the sheet of fine, expensive paper with its neat engraved heading and postal directions, and read Hartley Parrish’s last message.
My dear [it ran], I signed my will at Bardy’s office yesterday, and he sent it back to me to-day. Just this line to let you know you are properly provided for should anything happen to me. I wanted to fix things so that you and Lady Margaret would not have to worry any more. I just had to write. I guess you understand why.