And on what day did he meet his death?
On Monday.
Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is
that I have received a letter from him to-day.
Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised.
What! he roared.
Yes, to-day. She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in
the air.
May I see it?
Certainly.
He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the
table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left my
chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a very
coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the
date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was
considerably after midnight.
Coarse writing, murmured Holmes. Surely this is not your husband s
writing, madam.
No, but the enclosure is.
I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and
inquire as to the address.
How can you tell that?
The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself.
The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that blotting-paper has
been used. If it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none
would be of a deep black shade. This man has written the name, and
there has then been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only
135