Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question."Frankly, now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and lookingkeenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
"Frankly, then, madam, I do not."
"You think that he is dead?"
"I do."
"Murdered?"
"I don't say that. Perhaps."
"And on what day did he meet his death?"
"On Monday."
"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain howit is that I have received a letter from him to-day."
Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had beengalvanised.
"What!" he roared.
"Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip ofpaper in the air.
"May I see it?"
"Certainly."
He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it outupon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. Ihad left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. Theenvelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesendpostmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the daybefore, for it was considerably after midnight.
"Coarse writing," murmured Holmes. "Surely this is not yourhusband's writing, madam."
"No, but the enclosure is."
"I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to goand inquire as to the address."
"How can you tell that?"
"The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has drieditself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows thatblotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straightoff, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. Thisman has written the name, and there has then been a pause beforehe wrote the address, which can only mean that he was notfamiliar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there isnothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha!there has been an enclosure here!"
"Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring."
"And you are sure that this is your husband's hand?"
"One of his hands."
"One?"
"His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usualwriting, and yet I know it well."
"'Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is ahuge error which it may take some little time to rectify.Wait in patience.--NEVILLE.' Written in pencil upon the fly-leafof a book, octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day inGravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has beengummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had beenchewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband'shand, madam?"
"None. Neville wrote those words."
"And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair,the clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that thedanger is over."
"But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes."
"Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent.The ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken fromhim."