Chapter 31
THE MASK OF THE RED BANDANNA It had come by special delivery, an ill-written little note scrawled on cheap ruled paper torn from a tablet. If you want to know who killed Cuningham i can tell you. Meet me at the Denmark Bilding, room 419, at eleven tonight. Come alone. One who knows. Kirby studied the invitation carefully. Was it genuine? Or was it a plant? He was no handwriting expert, but he had a feeling that it was a disguised script. There is an inimitable looseness of design in the chirography of an illiterate person. He did not find here the awkwardness of the inexpert; rather the elaborate imitation of an amateur ignoramus. Yet he was not sure. He could give no definite reason for this fancy. And in the end he tossed it overboard. He would keep the appointment and see what came
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