mean that he was not familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but
there is nothing 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 usual writing,
and yet I know it well.
Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a huge
error which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait in
patience. NEVILLE. Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book,
octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in Gravesend by a man
with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been gummed, if I am not very
much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco. And you have
no doubt that it is your husband s hand, 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 the danger 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 from him.
No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!
Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only
posted to-day.
That is possible.
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