Black. Why should I? I had no premonition that I should
ever be induced to show it to any one, least of all to you."
"Look over these. Do they look at all familiar?"
She glanced down at the crumpled sheets and half-sheets he had
spread out before her. They were similar in appearance to the one
she had picked up on the judge's grounds but the language was more
forcible, as witness these:
When a man is trusted to defend another on trial for his life,
he's supposed to know his business. How came John Scoville to
hang, without a thought being given to the man who hated A.
Etheridge like poison? I could name a certain chap who more than
once in the old days boasted that he'd like to kill the fellow.
And it wasn't Scoville or any one of his low-down stamp either.
A high and mighty name shouldn't shield a man who sent a poor,
unfriended wretch to his death in order to save his own bacon.
"Horrible!" murmured Deborah, drawing back in terror of her own
emotion. "It's the work of some implacable enemy taking advantage
of the situation I have created. Mr. Black, this man must be found
and made to see that no one will believe, not even Scoville's
widow--"
"There! you needn't go any further with that," admonished the
lawyer. "I will manage him. But first we must make sure to rightly
locate this enemy of the Ostranders. You do detect some
resemblance between this writing and the specimen you have at
home?"
"They are very much alike.
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