It proved to be narrow but deep, evidently made with a dirk or blade with
two edges.
Then, after the house was searched and it was discovered that a bureau
had been rifled of several hundred dollars left there by Ransom, the
young cottager placed the torn, blood-stained letter he had found in
Bordines' possession, in the hand of the detective.
"Where did you get this?" questioned Keene, after he had read the short
epistle.
"It was found near my poor sister, on the porch."
"You found it?"
"No, Bordine."
"By the way, who made the discovery of the tragedy first?"
"Mr. Bordine. He was standing over Victoria, with this letter in his
hand, when I arrived."
"He is your friend?"
"Well, yes, I have supposed him to be."
"What is his full name?"
"August Bordine."
The detective glanced at the letter, then gave vent to a low whistle.
This was natural with him at times, especially when he had made a
gratifying discovery.
"Now you must be frank with me," proceeded Keene. "Tell me truly, what
relation this man, Bordine, bore to your sister."
"They were friends.
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