"
She went over to the desk, unlocked a little drawer, and took out
several sheets of paper.
"Here is what I found that morning," she said, and handed me a sheet
from an ordinary writing pad.
I saw scrawled across it an indecipherable jumble of words. She had
expressed it exactly--it seemed as though some one had been trying to
write with a weight clogging his hand. And there was something about
this scrap of paper--something convincing and authentic--which struck
heavily at my skepticism. Here was what a lawyer would call evidence.
"It kept on from day to day," continued Mrs. Magnus, sitting down
again. "Every morning the little heap of ashes and fragment of cigar,
and a scrawl like that--until finally, one morning, I understood what
was happening in this room, for three words were legible."
She handed me another sheet of paper. At the top were the words, "My
dear wife," and under them again an indecipherable scrawl.
"Did you tell any one of all this?" I asked.
"Not a word to any one. But I decided to investigate."
"How?"
"By staying in this room at night."
I could guess from her tone what the resolution had cost her.
"And you did?"
"Yes. I came up right after dinner, leaving word that I was not to be
disturbed. I went first to the desk to assure myself that the tray was
empty and that there was no writing on the top sheet of paper. Then I
switched off the light and sat down here by the fire and waited."
"That was brave," I said.
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