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She was murdered with this deadly instrument" Craig laid the letter-file on the table "and it was planned to throw the entire burden of suspicion on her by asserting that there was a shortage in the books of her department." "Pooh!" exclaimed Stacey, smoking complacently at his cigar. "We have been victimised in those fires by people who have grudges against us, labour unions and others.
No objection was offered to our request to examine Mr. Morowitch's personal effects in the library, and accordingly Craig ransacked the desk and the letter-file. There was practically nothing to be discovered. "Had Mr. Morowitch ever received any threats of robbery?" asked Craig, as he stood before the desk. "Not that I know of," replied Mrs. Morowitch.
Mittyford had a bald head, neat eye-glasses, a fair family income, a chatty good-fellowship at the Faculty Club, and a chilly contemptuousness in his rhetoric class-room at Leland Stanford, Jr., University. He wrote poetry, which he filed away under the letter "P" in his letter-file. Dr. Mittyford grudgingly took Mr. Wrenn about, to teach him what not to enjoy.
"Isn't Bles developing splendidly?" she said to Miss Smith one afternoon. There was an unmistakable note of enthusiasm in her voice. Miss Smith slowly closed her letter-file but did not look up. "Yes," she said crisply. "He's eighteen now quite a man." "And most interesting to talk with." "H'm very" drily. Mary was busy with her own thoughts, and she did not notice the other woman's manner.
"Oh, I don't wish to," Mary cried; put out a hand that stayed the action. "To hear all she says would again begin it all. It would be like her voice. It would be like being with her again. Please, please, Miss Ram, don't tell me." "You have your own version?" "I have the truth." Mary pointed at the letter-file. "The truth isn't there. Mrs. Chater isn't capable of the truth.
Then the eminent lawyer delved importantly into an empty letter-file; emerged after ten minutes' study in order to give Blackstone a few thoroughly familiar turns, opened the window further to cool his fevered brain, lit a highly athletic cigar, crossed his legs, and was at last at leisure to talk business with Garrison, who had almost fallen asleep during the business rush.
She was caught in a back-draught, or something of the sort. Well, thank God, we've seen the last of this firebug business. What's that?" Kennedy had laid the letter-file on the table. "Nothing. Only I found this embedded in Miss Wend's breast right over her heart." "Then she was murdered?" exclaimed McCormick. "We haven't come to the end of this case yet," replied Craig evasively.
A few desks, a cabinet letter-file, a typewriter stand or two, a chart, a picture askew upon the wall this might still have been the office of the Y.V. railway. Indeed, there was printed upon the office door the modest sign, "John Eddring, Agent of Claims." Yet this was no longer the office of Eddring, claim agent of the railway. There had been change.
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