The tired, indifferent Harwood she had found at the end of his night vigil had vanished; he was once more the alert, earnest young man of action she admired.
"Rose, I want to ask you some questions.

I think you will believe me if I say that I shouldn't ask them if they were not of importance--of very great importance." "All right, Mr.Harwood." Her eyes had fallen upon the letter and her lids fluttered quickly.

She touched her pompadour with the back of her hand and tightened the knot of her tie.
"This is on the dead, Rose.

It concerns a lot of people, and it's important for me to know the truth.

And it's possible that you may not be able to help; but if you can't the matter ends here." He rose and closed the door of his room to shut out the renewed jingle of the telephone.
"I want you to look at this letter and tell me whether you ever saw it before." She took it from him, glanced at the first line indifferently, looked closely at the paper, and gave it back, shaking her head.
"We never had anything like that in the office, paper or machine either.
That's heavier than the stationery you had over in the Boordman Building, and that's a black ribbon; we've always used purple copying-ribbons.