‘Peculiar,’ murmured Fordney, as he examined the desk on which lay seven letters ready for mailing, three gray, one lavender, two pink, and one lemon-colored.
As he idly shaped the wax of the candle standing on the desk, he continued to ponder this unusual choice of color in stationery.
One of the letters was addressed to Dot Dalton, who had been murdered between eleven-forty and eleven-fifty. She was one of the guests at this house party in the Adirondacks.
All the letters were closed with black sealing wax stamped with the letter ‘F.’
At midnight, Fordney began his questioning.
‘What time did you retire?’ he asked Molly Fleming, in whose bedroom he was seated.
‘About ten,’ she replied.
‘Was your door locked?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hear any disturbance?’
‘No; I was tired, fell asleep almost immediately, and didn’t awaken until you knocked on my door a few minutes ago and told me of the tragedy.’
‘Why did you write to Dot?’
‘I didn’t see her last night and knew she intended leaving early this morning. Jack Fahey broke our engagement yesterday and told me he was going to marry Dot. My letter was to tell her just how despicable I thought she was in luring him away from me. He didn’t love her. Of course, I’m sorry she’s dead, but a lot of wives will feel safer.’
‘Why the various colors of stationery?’ inquired the Professor.
‘Oh, I always write in a color that seems to reflect the personality of my correspondent.’
‘I see,’ said Fordney; ‘but unless you have a better alibi you’ll be held under serious suspicion.’
Why was the Professor practically certain Molly was involved in this horrible murder?
