These tasks completed, Quincy walked up Tremont Row by Scollay's Building. Crossing Pemberton Square, he continued up Tremont Street until he came to the building in which was the law office of Curtis Carter, one of his law school chums. "Hello, Curt!" said he, as he entered the somewhat dingy office. "Well, 'pon honor, Quincy," cried Curtis, "the sight of you is good for sore eyes, and I've got such a beastly cold that I can't see with one eye and can't read with the other." "Well," said Quincy, "I came in here intending to consult you professionally, but I don't think a blind lawyer will answer my purpose." "Oh, I shall be all right in a few minutes," replied Curtis. "I dropped into Young's as I came up and took an eye-opener. What's the matter, old fellow, breach of promise?" Quincy took a seat near Curtis's desk. "No," said he, "it's a case of animosity carried beyond the grave." "Oh! I see," said Curtis, "party cut off with a shilling, going to try and break the will?" "Have a cigar?" asked Quincy. "While you are lighting it and getting it under way I may slide in and get a chance to state my business." "Oh! you want to do the talking?" said Curtis good humoredly. "Well, go ahead, old man;" and he leaned back and smoked complacently. Quincy then related as much as he thought necessary of the story of the sealed letter, and as he concluded he took the package from his pocket and placed it on the corner of the lawyer's desk. "You are doing just right," said Curtis; "the probate judges nowadays are looking more carefully at wills, especially when their provisions indicate that the signer was more red Indian than white Christian. I understand you perfectly," he continued; "what you wish me to do is to put this letter in an envelope, seal it securely, and endorse upon it these words, 'To be delivered only to Miss Lindy Putnam upon the written order of Miss Alice Pettengill.'" "That's it exactly," said Quincy; "only I wish a receipt from you for the document." "Certainly," replied Curtis. As he raised the lid of his old-fashioned desk the letter fell to the floor. The envelope had received rough treatment in its progress from hand to hand, and it was not strange that when it struck the floor one corner was split open by the fall. As Quincy stooped to pick it up, he noticed that something that resembled a small piece of white cloth dropped from the broken corner of the envelope. When he picked it up to replace it, he saw that it was a small piece of white cotton cloth, and his quick eye caught the name "Linda Fernborough" stamped thereon with indelible ink. He said nothing, but replacing the piece of cloth passed the package to Curtis, who enclosed, sealed, and endorsed it, and gave a receipt therefor to Quincy. "I will put this in my big steel vault," said he, as he went into another room.