WYLDER'S HAJVD.
301
And the attorney took out his keys, looking pale and
stern, like a man about to open the door upon a horror,
and unlocked his safe, and took out the oft-consulted and
familiar series — letters tied up and bearing the label,
"Mark Wylder, Esq."
"Aye, here it is, Genoa, 20th, and this, Venice, 28th.
Yes, the postmarks correspond; yet the letter from Genoa,
dated 20th, refers back to the letter from Venice, written
eight days later! the — well — I can't comprehend —
how in the name of — how in the name " —
He placed the two letters on his desk, and read them
over, and up and down, and pondered darkly over them.
"It is Mark Wylder's writing — I'll swear to it.
What on earth can he mean? He can't possibly want to
confuse us upon dates, as well as places, because that
would simply render his letters, for purposes of business,
nugatory, and there are many things he wishes attended
to."
Jos Larkin rose from his desk, ruminating, and went to
the window, and placed the letter against the pane. I
don't think he had any definite motive in doing this, but
something struck him that he had not remarked before.
There was something different in the quality of the ink
that wrote the number of the date, 28 th, from that used
in the rest of the letter.
"What can that mean? " muttered Larkin, with a sort
of gasp at his discovery; and shading his eyes with his
hand, he scrutinised the numerals — " 28th," again; —
"a totally different ink!"
He took the previous letter, frowned on it fiercely from
his rat-like eyes, and then with an ejaculation, as like an
oath as so good a man could utter, he exclaimed,
"I have it!"
Then came a pause, and he said —