“But what can anything he wrote in a letter on Sunday have to do with his being murdered on Tuesday?” asked the colonel brusquely. “I don't see any connection at all.”
“Colonel Mead,” said the detective very solemnly, “every action of his since he came here last Saturday, every word he uttered, and every word he wrote may have been leading up to the climax of that ghastly tragedy in the billiard-room. In the three days preceding his murder there may be nothing without its significance, if we only knew. Now who were his intimate friends?”
“Oh, I can't tell you anyone in particular,” replied the colonel sharply. “He was always about with different people. He had scores of friends, and it would be ridiculous for me to pick out any particular one.” He snapped his teeth together sharply. “At
