hand, 'Mementos. From my mother.' The thief has spared these."
The detective, who was now seated beside the table, holding a folded newspaper in his hand, took the box, looked at the tiny packet within, nodded and passed it silently to the doctor.
"And now," went on Robert Brierly, and there was a new ring of resolution and menace in his voice. "I turn the rooms and all they contain over to you, Mr. Ferrars, and I await your opinion, when you have read that letter in your pocket."
Ferrars drew forth the envelope and looked at it for the first time. It was only a fragment, for a large corner of its face was missing, the corner, in fact, which should have borne the postage stamp and the postmaster's seal.
Without a word he held this side towards the two men, extending it first to one, and then to the other.
"You see!" he said, and then to Brierly. "Was it your brother's habit to tear his letters open in such a reckless manner?"
"No. He was almost dainty in all his ways."
"Is there another letter in that desk torn as this is?"
Without a word Brierly took the letter and went back to the desk, catching the letters from their pigeon holes by the handful.
