"Would it be too much to ask just to see that note that was found in
the Boncour bungalow?" asked Craig.
The prosecutor, an energetic young man, pulled out of a document-case
a crumpled note which had been pressed flat again. On it in clear,
deep black letters were the words, just as reported:
This will cure your headache.
DR. DIXON.
"How about the handwriting?" asked Kennedy.
The lawyer pulled out a number of letters. "I'm afraid they will have
to admit it," he said with reluctance, as if down in his heart he
hated to prosecute Dixon. "We have lots of these, and no handwriting
expert could successfully deny the identity of the writing."
He stowed away the letters without letting Kennedy get a hint as to
their contents. Kennedy was examining the note carefully.
"May I count on having this note for further examination, of course
always at such times and under such conditions as you agree to?"
The attorney nodded. "I am perfectly willing to do anything not
illegal to accommodate the senator," he said. "But, on the other hand,
I am here to do my duty for the state, cost whom, it may."
The Willard house was in a virtual state of siege. News-paper
reporters from Boston and New York were actually encamped at every
gate, terrible as an army, with cameras. It was with some difficulty
that we got in, even though we were expected, for some of the more
enterprising had already fooled the family by posing as officers of
the law and messengers from Dr.
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