“I understand that now; but when did you first begin to suspect Miss Howard?”
“When I discovered that she had told a lie at the inquest about the letter she had received from Mrs. Inglethorp.”
“Why, what was there to lie about?”
“You saw that letter? Do you recall its general appearance?”
“Yes—more or less.”
“You will recollect, then, that Mrs. Inglethorp wrote a very distinctive hand, and left large clear spaces between her words. But if you look at the date at the top of the letter you will
was what they call an Apache, or some such name—a Frenchified sort of cut-throat, I take it to be. A real sight she looked. You’d never have believed a pretty young lady like that could have made herself into such a ruffian. Nobody would have known her.”
“These evenings must have been great fun,” said