“You gave the letters to Howard that morning? Ridley, are you sure?” exclaimed Ray, letting go of the boy.
“Perfeckly. Mistah Howard took de letters, an’ he luks ’em over, an’ he sez, ‘Dese two is mine,’ an’ he gives me back de rest.”
“He kept two, did he? Well, did you see those letters?”
“No, sah, I didn’t see de names. He gived me back t’ree or four, and none of dem was fer you. I s’posed Mistah Howard unly kep’ his own letters.”
“And there were two of them?”
“Yes, sah, I knows dere was two; one was white an’ de udder pink.”
“What!” cried Ray. “You say one was pink?”
“Yes, sah. I remember dat letter well. I tuk notiss of it wen I got it at de post office, and when Mistah Howard gived me back de udder letters dat pink one was gone.”
Ray was silent for several minutes, his lips pressed firmly together. At length he said quietly.
“All right, Ridley. Much obliged to you. That will do.” Ridley disappeared down the cellar stairs, and Ray turned to me a long look of astonishment.