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Words: 49289 in 37 pages
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ow. But why seize this clumsy device when it actually supported a heavy brass poker?
The thing savored of madness, of the wild vagary of a homicidal maniac. It was incomprehensible, strange beyond belief.
Yet as Bruce pictured the final scene in that tragedy, as he saw the ill-fated lady stagger helplessly to the ground before a treacherous and crushing stroke, a fierce light leaped into his face, and his lips set tight with unflinching purpose.
Had Mensmore been within reach at that moment he would assuredly have been lodged in a felon's cell forthwith. No excuse, no palliation, would be accepted. The man who could so foully slay a gentle, kindly, high-minded woman deserved the utmost rigor of the law, no matter what the circumstances that led to the commission of the crime.
It was not often that Bruce allowed impulse to master reason so utterly.
But a cry of triumph from the detective arrested the fateful words even as they trembled on his lips. "Here's a find!" was the shout. "Thinking is all very well, Mr. Bruce, but hard work is better. What do you make of that?"
"That" was a letter, which, in the manner known to many a puzzled householder, had slipped down behind a drawer in the cabinet, to be crushed against the wardrobe at the back, and lie there forgotten and unnoticed.
Even in his perturbed state the barrister could not help glancing at the crumpled document, first noting the date, October 15th of the year just closed, with the superscription, "Mountain Butts, Wyoming." There was no envelope.
It was addressed to "Dear Bertie," and ran as follows:
"Your welcome note and its draft for fifty dollars came to hand last week. My sisters and I can never forget your generosity. We know you are hard up, and that you can ill spare these frequent gifts, or loans, as you are pleased to call them. You and I have been in many a tight place, old chap, and I never knew you to fail either with hand or heart. And when we drifted into this ranch, on my advice, and nearly starved to death, it was you who were bold enough to cut yourself adrift so that you might make something to keep the pot boiling.
"Your faithful friend, "SYDNEY H. CORBETT."
"What do you think of that?" cried the detective, when Bruce had slowly mastered the contents of the letter.
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