the house by mail, pays his rent by mail. Orders stuff by mail. Mostly
not real U-nited States Mail, y'know, because we don't mind dropping off
a note to someone in town. I'm the local mailman, too. So when I find a
note to Herby Wharton, the fellow that owns the general store, I drop it
off. Margie Clark over at the bank says he writes. Gets checks from New
York from publishing companies." The station-master looked around as if
he were looking for Soviet spies. "He's a scientist, all right. He's
doin' something important and hush-hush up there. Lots and lots of boxes
and packin' cases I've delivered up there from places like Central
Scientific and Labotory Supply Company. Must be a smart feller. You
visitin' him?"

"Well, he hired me for housekeeper. By mail." Mrs. Bagley looked puzzled
and concerned.

Little Martha began to cry.

"It'll be all right," said the station-master soothingly. "You keep your
eye open," he said to Mrs. Bagley. "Iff'n you see anything out of line,
you come right back and me and the missus will give you a lift. But he's
all right. Nothin' goin' on up there that I know of. Fred Riordan--he's
the sheriff--has watched the place for days and days and it's always
quiet. No visitors. No nothin'. Know what I think? I think he's
experimenting with something to take away the burn scars. That's whut
I think. Well, hop in and I'll drive you out there."

"Is it going to cost much?"

"Nothin' this trip. We'll charge it to the U-nited States Mail. Got a
package goin' out. Was waitin' for something else to go along with it,