At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a
neighbor in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his
hat. A passer-by heard him say distinctly:

"Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
closes for London?"

"At four-thirty," said Doris.

No other person overheard Mr. Franklin's next words:

"I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It's for you. Get it at
once. It is of the utmost importance."

Doris was startled, as well she might be. But--she went straight for the
letter. It was marked: "Private and Urgent," and ran:

DEAR MISS MARTIN. I am here _vice_ Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other
phases of the same inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure
at the inn as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the
village because he realized the difficulties facing him in that respect.
Now, I trust you, and I hope you will justify my faith. You know
Superintendent Fowler. I want you to meet me and him this afternoon at
two o'clock at the crossroads beyond the mill. A closed car will be in
waiting, and we can have half an hour's talk without anyone in Steynholme
being the wiser. Remember that this village, like the night, has a
thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this way if the
cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you decide to
keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will respect my