“Suppose that testimony is borne out by that of others? Miss McAllister remembers Miss Merivale’s fingering the buttons on the front of her blouse several times, in a nervous way. And two of the minor actors in that scene say that she kept her hand at her breast when it was not part of the business, as though she could not entirely forget something she carried there.” Lowry paused, as though to let these points sink into his hearer’s intelligence. Then he continued: “We found the torn scraps of the note, at least enough of them to be able to get quite a fair idea of what its purport had been.” Lowry opened the drawer of his desk and took out a Manila envelope. From it he drew a sheet of paper upon which had been pasted a number of words, some of them in sequence and some of them detached and far apart. He pushed the paper across to Barrison. “Have a look,” he said laconically. Barrison read: How madly—you—you accept—know I may hop—you pretend—needn’t expect—scape, you beau—might just as—make up—rrender—to-ni—— “What do you make of it?” asked Lowry, after Barrison had stared at the cryptic mosaic of paper scraps for a moment or two. The younger detective began to fill in and piece together. He evolved the logical complete letter: You know how madly I love you. If you accept the accompanying I know I may hope. Though you pretend, you needn’t expect to escape, you beauty. You might just as well make up your mind to surrender the battle to-night. Lowry read it and smiled. “Quite good,” he pronounced. “Here’s another answer.” And he pushed another sheet toward Jim. This one read—with the words of the recovered scraps underlined—as follows: No matter how determinedly, how madly you resist, you accept your fate. You know I may hope. You pretend courage, but you need not expect to escape, you beautiful fiend! You might just as well make up your mind to surrender to-night. Barrison read, and then, with a slight shrug, pushed it back toward the older man. “I see very little difference,” he said. “Really? Can’t you see that one is a love letter, and one a threat?” “If you choose to put in phrases like ‘you beautiful fiend!’” said Barrison, raising his eyebrows. Lowry chuckled. “Doesn’t it sound kind of natural?” he queried. “Oh, well, maybe I’m behind the times! I just tried to make it natural. But seriously, Jim, there is a difference, and you’d better get on to it quick. That letter—which was from Mortimer; I’ve had the handwriting verified—might have been a threat to a woman whom he was dead set on getting, or a billet-doux to a girl he was sweet on, and who was acting shy. Isn’t that right?” Barrison frowned over the two epistles. “You’ve something else up your sleeve,” he declared, watching him closely. “I’ve a good mind to go and call on Miss Merivale myself.”