Sheridan was assigned to the New York division of the postal secret service, and, oddly enough, the first case that he was sent to investigate was at the branch at which he had served as carrier. "Sheridan," said the chief inspector, "run up to Station X Y right away. There’s some trouble up there. Go and straighten it out." Wondering what his trouble could be, and which one of his former comrades was concerned in it, Owen jumped aboard a subway express, and half an hour later stepped into the private office of Superintendent Henderson, of Branch X Y. Henderson’s greeting was flatteringly deferential. No matter how honest a postmaster may be, he likes to have the good will of the special investigators. Owen in his new role was, therefore, considered a person of some importance by his former boss. "How do you do, Mr. Sheridan?" said he. "May I offer you my heartiest congratulations upon your promotion?" He extended his hand somewhat hesitatingly, remembering the bad turn he had once done Owen by peremptorily transferring him from his route. But Owen did not bear any grudge. Henderson, except for that one act of injustice, had always been fairly decent to him. And, besides, the inspector was too happy over the realization of his ambition to bear ill will toward anybody. He cordially grasped the hand which the superintendent held halfway toward him. "Thank you," he said, in acknowledgment of the congratulations. "I shall never forget the many little kindnesses you showed me when I was connected with this branch." Henderson looked at him keenly, wondering whether there was anything ironical about this remark; he was relieved to see that there was nothing at all suspicious about the inspector’s frank smile. "I understand that there’s some trouble up here," said Owen, getting down to business. "The chief sent me up here to investigate." The superintendent nodded. "Yes, it’s a very mysterious case, Mr. Sheridan. I can give you the details in a few words. A man named Walter K. Sammis---- I beg your pardon?" Owen had been unable to refrain from an ejaculation of astonishment at the mention of the name of Dallas Worthington’s employer. Could it be possible that he had anything to do with this case? "I didn’t mean to interrupt you," he said. "Please go on. You mean Sammis, the real-estate man, I presume?" "Yes. He came around to this office at five o’clock yesterday evening, accompanied by another man--the Reverend Atkinson Moore. They came to see me with reference to a letter which they had dropped in the street letter box outside Sammis’ office--a letter in a pink envelope. Mr. Sammis explained to me that the letter contained a hundred-dollar bill which the clergyman was sending to a poor family in Pennsylvania." "He was sending a hundred dollars in currency in an unregistered letter?" exclaimed Owen, with some astonishment.