Somewhat perplexed, Curtis again picked up his pajamas. As he ran his fingers over the jacket he drew out a handkerchief from the pocket. Holding it close to his nose he detected the odor of chloroform. Only a faint, very faint, trace of the chloroform remained, but it was sufficient to identify the handkerchief as the one thrown toward him by the unknown woman in John Meredith’s bedroom on the night of Meredith’s murder.
Curtis sat down in the nearest chair and spread the pajamas across his knee. In the rapid march of events he had forgotten the handkerchief which he had inadvertently stuffed into the pocket of his pajamas on going to his room to rest after the discovery of Meredith’s body.
He judged the handkerchief to be of the finest linen, of dainty size. Deftly his fingers traveled around its edges. Was there no mark by which he might establish the identity of the mysterious woman in Meredith’s bedroom? His long, sensitive fingers stopped at one corner. Slowly they traced out the solitary initial—the capital letter “A.”
A low tap at his bedroom door aroused Curtis. Rising in some haste he went over to his bureau, took out his despatch box, and, opening it, securely locked the handkerchief inside it. Not until the box was again in the drawer did he turn toward the door.
“Come in!” he called as the knock was repeated with more insistence. Doctor Leonard McLane stepped briskly inside and closed the door behind him.
“I am glad I found you, Dave,” he said, and, observing Curtis’ pleased smile on recognizing his voice, added: “I called to see Anne Meredith, but she had gone out motoring with Lucille Hull and Gerald Armstrong. Herman told me that you were in, so I came upstairs.”
Curtis sighed with relief. “I am very glad that you are here, Leonard,” he exclaimed. “Frankly, I was just thinking of telephoning to you to come over at once.”
“Indeed?” McLane drew up a comfortable rocker and seated himself near the blind surgeon. “What do you wish to see me about, and why are you caressing a pair of pajamas?”
As he spoke Curtis had picked up the pajamas from the chair where he had dropped them upon hearing McLane’s knock on his door.
“I’ll explain all in good time,” he answered, seating himself. “Please treat our conversation as confidential, Leonard.”