Jon Hagadorn

Bundle tugged at it impatiently, but it didn't move.

She recalled that on a former occasion an envelope had been pushed back with it and had jammed it for the time being.

She took a thin paper knife and slipped it into the narrow crack.

She was so far successful that a corner of white paper showed.

Bundle caught hold of it and drew it out.

It was the first sheet of a letter, somewhat crumpled.

It was the date that first caught Bundle's eye, a big, flourishing date that leaped out from the paper.

"'September 21st.'

"'September 21st,' said Bundle, slowly.

"'Why, surely that was—' She broke off.

"'Yes, she was sure of it.

The 22nd was the day Jerry Wade was found dead.

This, then, was a letter he must have been writing on the very evening of the tragedy.'

Bundle smoothed it out and read it.

It was unfinished.

My darling Lorraine, I will be down on Wednesday, and feeling awfully fit and rather pleased with myself all round.

It will be heavenly to see you.

Look here.

Do forget what I said about that seven dials business.

I thought it was going to be more or less of a joke.