Chapter 56

“Let us now see the letter.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Man With the Twisted Lip

When Tom finished, he carefully lifted a small envelope between his thumb and forefinger and held it high for me to see.

“This was inside the folded papers,” he said.

“That can’t be the envelope...? Can it?” I was so anxious to know what was in it, I could barely keep focused on driving.

“It’s fragile,” Tom said, “but it’s in better shape than the pages. I’ll have to treat it real gently.”

“Maybe we should wait until you have the proper tools to open it,” I cautioned, still peering into the dark night.

“I’ll blow softly into the envelope and try to create an opening to remove whatever’s inside. Hopefully the contents will not adhere to the envelope.”

I was absolutely still as he held the envelope to his lips and gently blew across the flap. A few ashes floated around in the front seat. I stifled another cough.

Tom was fully absorbed. There wasn’t a sign of his fatigue. After the fourth try, his back straightened and he sat upright. A small smile crossed his lips.

“Success. There is something in there. Now we’ll see if we have a Eureka.” Slowly and carefully he used his thumb and forefinger to withdraw a small sheet of paper. It too, like the notes, was a brown color from the heat.

“Yes,” Tom said excitedly. He held it up. “It’s the name of their suspect.”