“I remember there was something said about it,” Mayberry reflected. “But I heard nothing more about it. Frank said nothing further to me.” “No. Because it was settled, Mr. Mayberry,” the girl said more confidently. “We cannot fill this order.” “Indeed? Are you sure about that?” he asked, eyeing her with perfect composure now. “Why shouldn’t I be sure?” she retorted. “Well--I don’t know,” he drawled. “If you wrote a letter refusing this order, Frank saw it, of course?” “He O.K.’d it,” she said. “And it was sent?” “So I presume.” “It looks to me as though Frank must have changed his mind,” the superintendent said with a sly little smile. “He said nothing more to me about it. He would, it seems to me, if the order was finally refused. Having once discussed the matter with me, seems to me he would have done that.” “But he thought you understood,” cried the girl, both puzzled and alarmed. “You know he said the Bogata Company’s credit was involved. It was not whether the order should be accepted or not that was under discussion, Mr. Mayberry. It was merely how the refusal should be couched--in what terms. Don’t you remember?” “I admit you seem to have a clearer remembrance of the circumstances than I,” said Mayberry. “But it looks to me as though Frank had changed his mind about it without referring to the matter again to either of us. He probably found out that his fears regarding the Bogata Company’s credit were unfounded. Otherwise how would I have found the order on file? We have got to get right to work on it, too. That is why I am ordering these particular supplies.” “But, Mr. Mayberry!” she gasped, “I am quite sure a mistake has been made. Mr. Barton never intended this order to be filled.” “How do you know?” “The letter I wrote----” “Pooh! I suppose Frank was trying you out--seeing what you could do in an emergency,” and the superintendent laughed. “He never sent your letter. The Bogata people are old customers. It would not do to offend them.” “That is just it, Mr. Mayberry,” she cried. “It was a serious matter. I feel sure--Why! I put the letter in the mail myself.” Mayberry sat up straighter in his chair and his gaze became more intent. He dropped the butt of his cigarette in the ash tray that was never on the desk when the general manager was there. “You mean to tell me,” he asked, “that you posted that letter after Barton signed it?” “No. It was after John made his last trip to the post-office. When Mr. Barton had signed the letter I sealed it in the envelope, affixed the stamp, and placed it in the letter basket on my desk with other late mail.” “Humph! Did those letters go out that evening?” Mayberry asked. “No. John always takes them when he goes to early post--before I arrive at my desk.” “Then Frank could have regained the letter without your knowing it.” “But, Mr. Mayberry! surely he would have said something.”