"
"No confidential friend, eh?"
"None."
"No one who has access to your secrets? No--no--woman? Excuse me, Phil,"
he said, as a peculiar look passed over Demorest's face, "but this is
business."
"No," he returned, with that gentleness that used to frighten them
in the old days, "it's ignorance. You fellows always say 'Cherchez la
femme' when you can't say anything else. Come now," he went on more
brightly, "look at the letter. Here's a man, commercially educated,
for he has used the usual business formulas, 'on receipt of this,' and
'advices received,' which I won't merely say I don't use, but which
few but commercial men use. Next, here's a man who uses slang, not only
ineptly, but artificially, to give the letter the easy, familiar turn
it hasn't from beginning to end. I need only say, my dear Stacy, that
I don't write slang to you, but that nobody who understands slang ever
writes it in that way. And then the knowledge of my opinion of Barker is
such as might be gained from the reading of my letters by a person who
couldn't comprehend my feelings. Now, let me play inquisitor for a few
moments. Has anybody access to my letters to YOU?"
"No one. I keep them locked up in a cabinet. I only make memorandums of
your instructions, which I give to my clerks, but never your letters."
"But your clerks sometimes see you make memorandums from them?"
"Yes, but none of them have the ability to do this sort of thing, nor
the opportunity of profiting by it.
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