The Ely miner., 1940-12-26
CHAPTER XVI-COntinued

IL
You're not" Miss Agatha asked
slowly, "a very generous young
man, are you?"
81 have too little, l told her, still
tingling, ''to be generous. That, I
suppose, is why l fight to keep it.
I'm so far beneath the Pagets-"
Don't talk nonsense" she bade.
shrugged, deliberately provoking
my hurt.
$50 much that is-uncomfortable
to me, is nonsense to Paget," l
answered.
She grinned mockingly.
How proletarian! You care less
about lifting yourself than pulling
others down."
Lets drop it." I said and tipped
my cigarette into the wastebasket
with needless force.
Willingly" she agreed and laid
hold of the rim of her chairs
wheels. ''Will you stay to lunch,
David?"
NO." I said ungraciously, 81 have
an engagement. With Cochrane of
L
II see," said Miss Agatha calm
Iy. when you come back this aft
ernoon, We'll get the typewriter from
the basement. And before you go
out, you might see that whatever is
kindling in the wastebasket is ex-
tinguished. We've enough on our
hands without adding arson"
l smelled scorching paper and
bent over the basket.
Annie" said Miss Agatha, NOV
ing toward the door, should have
emptied it, but when the police come
In the door reason flies out"
''Wait minute" I begged. There
was a single balled sheet of paper
In the wastebasket and the tip of
my castaway cigarette lay on it. I
picked up the crumpled wad and an
odd feeling, half inspiration, half
theory, excited me. My fingers
trembled as I undid the ball. 1t
was half-completed letter, broken
off in mid-sentence. AS I read it I
could see Grove, blindly in love as
twenty-odd can be, hammering out
reproach and devotion to the woman
who had not kept their tryst. l
could see him look up, where the
typing ended, and mark that a WIN
dow in the Ferriter fiat was bright.
lone had returned. She had not
failed him. He had torn the paper
from the typewriter, cast it into the
basket and rushed, headlong, into
disaster. I handed the crumpled
sheet to Miss Agatha without a word
and she, too, read it through be-
fore she spoke.
poor boy" she said at last, and
there was tenderness in her usually
brisk voice. Poor, passionate, fool
ish Grove"
I had expected something more
from her than this, though even to
me the missive was more pitiful
and less ridiculous than most letters
of it's sort.
But don't you see," I asked,
"what this means?" She turned to-
ward me and replied with equal
tartness.
''See? Of course I see? This is
what put my nephew's fingerprints
on those typewriter keys. This is
the letter he said he had been writ
ing. That note the police found on
him was written by Everett, bent
on suicide, earlier. This merely
proves that Grove has told the truth.
1t seems more of surprise to you,
David, than it does to me-"
She read it over again with
crooked little smile and folded it
with gentle hands.
I suggested:
''Shan't we turn it over to Shan
non. 1t proves"
Shannon" she repeated with odd
indecision. 81 don't know. 1t seems
to me a rather sacred thing. You
see, no one ever wrote such letter
to me. Let me think it over, Da-
vid. Well talk of it later"
She rolled herself away without
another word. looked at the clock.
1t was almost time for my appoint
ment with Cochrane.