heart, laid open to the public. For, from the tenor of most of these
letters, she--she was not averse to the writer."

Mr. Gryce moved a little restlessly in his chair and stared hard at
the cutter so conveniently placed under his eye. Then his manner
softened and he remarked:

"We will do what we can. But you must understand that the matter is
not a simple one. That, in fact, it contains mysteries which demand
police investigation. We do not dare to trifle with any of the facts.
The inspector, and, if not he, the coroner, will have to be told about
these letters and will probably ask to see them."

"They are the letters of a gentleman."

"With the one exception."

"Yes, that is understood." Then in a sudden heat and with an almost
sublime trust in his daughter notwithstanding the duplicity he had
just discovered:

"Nothing--not the story told by these letters, or the sight of
that sturdy paper-cutter with its long and very slender blade, will
make me believe that she willingly took her own life. You do not
know, cannot know, the rare delicacy of her nature. She was a lady
through and through. If she had meditated death--if the breach
suggested by the one letter I have mentioned, should have so preyed
upon her spirits as to lead her to break her old father's heart
and outrage the feelings of all who knew her, she could not, being
the woman she was, choose a public place for such an act--an hotel