“Here,” Smith said. “Here’s an example of Shapland’s writing.” He slid the letter across the table to Bess.
“Where did you get that?” Bess asked.
“I bought it from one of his clerks,” Smith said. “Shapland pays miserly wages, and I thought it a few shillings well spent. Compare it with that note we found on Redpath.”
Bess glanced at the letter’s contents, grunted, opened a drawer, and produced the note. “No,” she said after a few moments. “It’s not the same. Shapland has a smooth script, and Redpath’s note is spiky.”
“Damn,” Smith said softly. “We’ve already checked Redpath’s writing, and it’s cramped and untidy. Who the devil sent a Runner to spy on us?”
“It must be Copinger,” Bess said. “He was the only other person we know who uses Alexander Wilkinson’s notepaper.”
“It must be Cop
