I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion." "Upon what point ?" "In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive ?" Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question.
"Frankly, now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
"Frankly, then, madam, I do not." "You think that he is dead ?" "I do." "Murdered ?" "I don't say that.

Perhaps." "And on what day did he meet his death ?" "On Monday." "Then perhaps, Mr.Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is that I have received a letter from him to-day." Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised.
"What!" he roared.
"Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in the air.
"May I see it ?" "Certainly." He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently.

I had left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder.

The envelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably after midnight.
"Coarse writing," murmured Holmes.

"Surely this is not your husband's writing, madam." "No, but the enclosure is." "I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and inquire as to the address." "How can you tell that ?" "The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself.