' I tell
you, it was fair sickening."
He wiped his brow at the recollection, and the inspector smiled
appreciatively.
"And that was the last of them?" said the latter; and as the porter
nodded sulkily, he asked: "Should you recognize the note that the
Italian gave you?"
"I should," answered the porter with frosty dignity.
The inspector bustled out of the room, and returned a minute later with
a letter-case in his hand.
"This was in his breast-pocket," said he, laying the bulging case on the
table, and drawing up a chair. "Now, here are three letters tied
together. Ah! this will be the one." He untied the tape, and held out a
dirty envelope addressed in a sprawling, illiterate hand to "Mr.
Hartridge, Esq." "Is that the note the Italian gave you?"
The porter examined it critically. "Yes," said he; "that is the one."
The inspector drew the letter out of the envelope, and, as he opened it,
his eyebrows went up.
"What do you make of that, Doctor?" he said, handing the sheet to
Thorndyke.
Thorndyke regarded it for a while in silence, with deep attention. Then
he carried it to the window, and, taking his lens from his pocket,
examined the paper closely, first with the low power, and then with the
highly magnifying Coddington attachment.
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