“Then how––” the young lawyer inquired, in a bewildered tone.
Henry Blaine smiled.
“You do not intend to specialize in criminal law, do you, Mr. Hamilton?” he remarked whimsically. “If you do, you will have to be up in the latest tricks of the trade. The man who forged this letter––the same man, 94 by the way, forged the signature on that mortgage––accomplished it like this: He took a bundle of Mr. Lawton’s old letters, cut out the actual words he desired, and pasted ’em in their proper order on the letter paper. Then he photographed this composite, and electrotyped it––that is, transferred it to a copperplate, and etched it. Then he re-photographed it, and in this way got an actual photograph of a supposedly authentic communication. There is only one man in this country who is capable of such perfect work. I know who that man is and where to find him.”
“Then if you can locate him before he skips, and make him talk, you will have won the victory,” Ramon exclaimed, jubilantly.
But the detective shook his head.
“The time is not yet ripe for that. The man is, in my estimation, a mere tool in the hands of the men higher up. He may not be able to give us any actual proof against them, and our exposure of him will only tip them off––put ’em on their guard. We needn’t show our hand just yet.”
“What’s the next move to be, then?” the young lawyer asked. “I don’t mean, of course, that I wish to inquire into your methods of handling the case––but have you any further commissions for me?”
“Only to accompany me to-morrow morning to the office of Charlton Moore and let me examine that note which Mr. Lawton presumably gave two years ago. Afterward, I have four little amateur detectives of mine to interview––then I think we’ll be able to proceed straight to our goal.”
The note also, as Henry Blaine had predicted, proved to be a forgery and to have been executed by the same hand as the letter.