The pin-pricks showed it. And the letter mailed to Mr.
Robinson at the General Delivery, which, if you remember, had the
address penciled in from pin-holes."
"When you have quite done discussing my personal misfortune," said
Honeywell patiently, "perhaps you will be good enough to tell me
which is William Robinson."
"I am," returned the owner of that name. "And do you be good enough
to tell me why you hound me with your hellish threats."
"That is not William Robinson's voice!" said the blind man. "Who
are you?"
"William H. Robinson."
"Not William Honeywell Robinson!"
"No; William Hunter Robinson."
"Then why am I brought here?"
"To make a statement for publication in to-morrow morning's
newspaper," returned Average Jones crisply.
"Statement? Is this a yellow journal trap?"
"As a courtesy to Mr. Robinson, I'll explain. How long have you
lived in the Caronia, Mr. Robinson?"
"About eight months."
"Then, some three or four months before you moved in, another
William H. Robinson lived there for a short time.
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