The next day at noon, after a hurried lunch at the restaurant, Alec stopped at the post-office on his way back to the factory. He wanted to add a few lines to the birthday letter which he had written Philippa the night before. He wrote them standing at the public desk; then, drawing the old wallet from his pocket, he took out the long-cherished gold coin from its wrapping of tissue-paper and dropped it into the envelope. "I'm afraid it isn't safe to send it that way," he said to himself, balancing the letter on two fingers. "It is so heavy that any one could guess what's in it, and it might wear through. I did want her to have it in gold, but I suppose it will be more sensible to send a postal order." After a moment's deliberation, he turned to the window beside the desk, and asked for a money-order blank. Some one came in while he was filling it out, but he was so absorbed in his occupation that he did not look up until he turned to push the slip and the money through the window bars toward the clerk. Then he saw that it was Ralph Bently who stood behind him, flipping a postal order in his fingers, impatient to have it cashed. They exchanged careless nods, and Alec, sealing his letter, dropped it into the box and hurried back to his work. As the outer door swung shut, Bently leaned his arms on the window ledge and spoke to the clerk, who was an intimate friend of his. "Say, Billy," he exclaimed, "let me see that coin that Stoker paid you just now, will you? Push it out here a minute." "What's up?" inquired the clerk, as he complied with the request. "Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to look at the date." As he examined it, he gave a long whistle. "Whe-ew! It's the same. Curious coincidence, I must say! This young brother takes up a collection Sunday night. Avery drops in her five-dollar gold piece that she got as a prize, you know. Collector turns his back on the meeting to count the money, hands in a report of only four dollars and ninety-six cents. Vows he never saw the gold in the box. A thorough search of the room fails to bring it to light. Nobody can imagine how it disappeared. The next morning he has a coin of the same date to dispose of." "Who is the fellow, anyway?" asked the clerk. "That's just it! Who is he? Nobody knows. He came here from some little place back in the country several months ago, and went to work in the Downs & Company shoe factory." "If that's the case, why don't you ask your uncle about him? He's both the company and the manager in the firm, isn't he? He'd know whether the fellow was to be trusted or not." "I intend to," was the answer; "and say, Billy, if you don't mind, I'll take that coin. Here's its equivalent." He pushed a rustling new bank-note toward his friend. "See me play Sherlock Holmes now. I always did think I'd make a good detective."