"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 on I will proceed to forget that this letter ever existed." "You may regret that you have acted in this generous manner," said the girl. "What if you find that all your faith has been misplaced--that I am not worthy of the trust--" "Really, there is nothing to be gained by saying such things," interposed Lowell. "As I told you, I am forgetting that the letter ever existed." "Do you know," she said, "I wish this letter could have come back to me from any one but you?" "Why?" "Because, coming as it has, I am more or less constrained to act as fairly as you believe I shall act." "You might give it back to Talpers and start in on any sort of a deal you chose." "Impossible! For fear Talpers may get it, here is what I shall do to the letter." Here Helen tore it in small pieces and tossed them high in the air, the breeze carrying them about the yard like snow. "In which event," laughed Lowell, "it seems that I win, and my faith in you is to be justified."