"It is for me, rather, to put that question to you."
"I'll tell you one thing I make of it—that the typewriter, from the anonymous letter-writer's point of view, is an excellent invention. In the case of a written letter, one can occasionally guess what kind of person it is from whom it comes; but, when it's typewritten, the Lord alone can tell."
"'The Goddess.' Does the signature convey no meaning to your mind? Think."
"I'm thinking. The Goddess? I certainly don't know any one who's entitled to write herself down like that. Let me look at the thing again." He returned me the sheet of paper, "This seems to suggest that some one else is disposed to take a hand in the game—some person at present unknown."
"But who knows that you owed Lawrence £1880? And—who knows how much besides?"
"Just so. I wonder!"
Hume eyed me as if he were endeavouring to decipher, on my face, the key to a riddle.
"If some one applies to you for the money what shall you do?"
"Hang him, or her, straight off. That is, I should hand the gentleman, or lady, over to Symonds, with that end in view. Don't you see what such an application would imply?
