apparently unchanged. Wong was at work in the kitchen. Two Indians, who
had been hired to harvest the hay, which was the only crop on the ranch,
were busy in a near-by field. Helen, looking charming in a house dress
of blue, with white collar and cuffs, was feeding a tame magpie when
Lowell drove into the yard.

"Moving picture entitled 'The Metamorphosis of Miss Tatters,'" said
Lowell, amusedly surveying her.

"The scratches still survive, but the riding-suit will take a lot of
mending," said Helen, showing her scratched hands and wrists.

"Well, if this very becoming costume has a pocket, here's something to
put in it," remarked Lowell, handing her the letter.

Helen's smile was succeeded by a startled, anxious look, as she glanced
at the envelope and then at Lowell.

"No need for worry," Lowell assured her. "Nobody has read that letter
since it passed out of the possession of our esteemed postmaster, Bill
Talpers, sometime after one o'clock this morning."

"But how did he come to give it up?" asked Helen, her voice wavering.

"He did not do so willingly. It might be said he did not give it up
knowingly. As a matter of fact, our friend Talpers had no idea he had
lost his precious possession until it had been gone several hours."

"But how--"

"'How' is a word to be flung at Red Egan, knight of the steel drill and
the nitro bottle and other what-nots of up-to-date burglary," said
Lowell. "Though I saw the thing done, I can't tell you how. I only hope
it clears matters for you."

"It does in a way. I cannot tell you how grateful I am," said Helen, her
trembling hands tightly clutching the letter.

"Only in a way? I am sorry it does not do more."

"But it's a very important way, I assure you!" exclaimed Helen. "It
eliminates this man--this Talpers--as a personal menace. But when you
are so eager to get every thread of evidence, how is it that you can
give this letter to me, unread? You must feel sure it has some bearing
on the awful thing--the tragedy that took place back there on the hill."

"That is where faith rises superior to a very human desire to look into
the details of mystery," said Lowell. "If I were a real detective, or
spy, as you characterized me, I would have read that letter at the first
opportunity. But I knew that my reading it would cause you grave
personal concern. I have faith in you to the extent that I believe you
would do nothing to bring injustice upon others. Consequently, from now