I shall spend another
anxious day preparing my defense, hoping that through some miracle
of mercy you may forgive me--understand that there was nothing
else I could do.
Do not judge, dear lady, until you know everything--until all my
evidence is in your lovely hands.
YOURS, IN ALL HUMILITY.
The first few paragraphs of this the sixth and next to the last
letter from the Agony Column man had brought a smile of relief to
the face of the girl who read. She was decidedly glad to learn
that her friend no longer languished back of those gray walls on
Victoria Embankment. With excitement that increased as she went
along, she followed Colonel Hughes as--in the letter--he moved
nearer and nearer his denouement, until finally his finger pointed
to Inspector Bray sitting guilty in his chair. This was an
eminently satisfactory solution, and it served the inspector right
for locking up her friend. Then, with the suddenness of a bomb
from a Zeppelin, came, at the end, her strawberry man's confession
of guilt. He was the murderer, after all! He admitted it! She
could scarcely believe her eyes.
Yet there it was, in ink as violet as those eyes, on the note paper
that had become so familiar to her during the thrilling week just
past.
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