“‘Do you imagine that I do not know who wrote that letter?’
“‘Why should I take the trouble to imagine anything about it?’
“‘You are a real Yankee; you answer my questions by propounding others. We will let the subject drop unless you can make a candid answer to a simple question.’
“‘I crave your pardon, madame, and promise to furnish a direct answer to all your questions, provided you will agree to do the same with my interrogatories.’
“‘Very good! I consent to the agreement. Where did you get that letter?’
“Now I was completely nonplussed by that question, and entirely thrown off my guard, and did not know what answer to make. I began to stammer and halt; and despite all my efforts to invent a suitable answer, I made an absolute failure; my confusion proved to be the very lever that enabled me to pry the secret out of its hiding-place. When Miss Clattermouth saw my great confusion, her curiosity went up to the highest pitch, and she exclaimed:
“‘Ah, ha! Doctor Demar, you are caught in your own trap. You have been a carrier of a clandestine correspondence between Ben Bowles and his “Dulcinia del Toboso,” and I must say that I am surprised and mortified to make the startling discovery.’
“‘You may imagine that you know that handwriting, Miss Clattermouth, but I beg permission to inform you that you are very much mistaken.’
“‘I say, mistaken! indeed, I know that handwriting as well as I do my own; and if I were to find a line of Ben Bowles’ writing in the great Sahara Desert, I would know it—yes, I would swear on a stack of Bibles as high as this house that that was written by Ben Bowles.’
“‘Thanks be to Heaven!’ I mentally exclaimed; and it was all I could do to keep from shouting with joy. I seized the letter, and pretended that I had suddenly thought of an appointment down town; looking at my watch, I hurried from the house, leaving Miss Clattermouth angry and astonished at my conduct.