Markham did not argue the point. With a gesture of distaste he began running through the letters, looking particularly at the dates. Two photographs he put back after a cursory glance; and one piece of paper, which appeared to contain a pen-and-ink sketch of some kind, he tore up with disgust and threw into the waste-basket. Three letters, I noticed, he placed to one side. After five minutes' inspection of the others, he returned them to the folder. Then he nodded to Heath.
"Bring Cleaver back." He rose and, turning, gazed out of the window.
As soon as Cleaver was again seated before the desk Markham said, without looking round:
"You told me it was last June that you bought your letters back from Miss Odell. Do you recall the date?"
"Not exactly," said Cleaver easily. "It was early in the month, though—during the first week, I think."
Markham now spun about and pointed to the three letters he had segregated.
"How, then, do you happen to have in your possession compromising letters which you wrote to Miss Odell from the Adirondacks late in July?"
Cleaver's self-control was perfect. After a moment's stoical silence, he merely said in a mild, quiet voice:
"You of course came by those letters legally."
Markham was stung, but he was also exasperated by the other's persistent deceptions.
"I regret to confess," he said, "that they were taken from your apartment—though, I assure you,
