There he sat down and, with infinite patience, gummed the fragments on to the card, fitting them together like the pieces of a Chinese puzzle.
The others over his shoulders could see spaced words, written in pencil, taking shape as a sentence upon the card.

Hanaud turned abruptly in his seat toward Wethermill.
"You have, no doubt, a letter written by Mlle.

Celie ?" Wethermill took his letter-case from his pocket and a letter out of the case.

He hesitated for a moment as he glanced over what was written.
The four sheets were covered.

He folded back the letter, so that only the two inner sheets were visible, and handed it to Hanaud.