Sucks books

Come, I can do nothing more to-night, until I learn more
from these animals and the cultures which I have in these tubes.
Let us take a turn or two, then dine, and perhaps we may get some
word at our apartment from Edward."
It was late that night when a gentle tap at the door proved that
Kennedy's hope had not been unfounded. I opened it and let in
Edward, the valet, who produced the fragments of a note, torn and
crumpled.
"There is nothing new, sir," he explained, "except that Mrs. Pitts
seems more nervous than ever, and Mr. Pitts, I think, is feeling a
little brighter."
Kennedy said nothing, but was hard at work with puckered brows at
piecing together the note which Edward had obtained after hunting
through the house. It had been thrown into a fireplace in Mrs.
Pitts's own room, and only by chance had part of it been
unconsumed. The body of the note was gone altogether, but the
first part and the last part remained.
Apparently it had been written the very morning on which the
murder was discovered.


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