"You believe me guilty!" she said, and she stifled a sob. "Yet, still, you will help me! God bless you! Listen, then, for I must stop this talking, it is too desperately dangerous. I will leave the key of the mail box--no, I will send it to you by mail, that will be the safest. Then will you get the letters and put them--where shall I say?" "I'll mail them to you." "No, that would never do. You can get into this house, can't you? The police will let you in at any time?" "Yes, I can probably manage that." "Then bring them with you, all of the three days' mail at once, you understand, and put them in that great Chinese jar, in the music room. The one with the gold dragon on the cover. No one will look there for them. I will manage to come and get them very soon. Please don't spy on me, will you, Chester?" The use of my first name was, I knew, inadvertent and unconscious. It thrilled me. There was a marvellous fascination always about Vicky Van, and now, at the end of this my mysterious night telephone conversation, I felt its thrill and I agreed to her plea. "No, dear," I said, and not till afterward did I realize the term I had used, "I will not spy. But promise me that you will call on me for any help you may need. And tell me--are you alone or is Julie with you?" "Julie is with me," she returned. "She helps protect me, and with your friendship, too, I am blessed indeed. But this is good-bye. I shall leave New York in a few days never to return. I must have that mail, or I would go at once. If you will help me get that, you will do all there is left for any one to do for me in the world." Her tone frightened me. "Vicky!" I cried, forgetting all caution. "Don't--my dear, don't--" but I could not put in words the fear that had suddenly come to me, and even as I stammered for speech, the click came that told me she had hung up the receiver. I cursed myself for my stupidity in speaking her name. Such a blunder! Why, it might have been overheard by anybody on the line. No wonder she left me. Doubtless I had driven her from her house. I flew to the window. Then I remembered I had promised not to spy, and I turned quickly away. If she were about to disappear silently and stealthily from that house, I must not know it. I went to my room, but not to sleep. Clearly, I was not to know untroubled slumber again very soon. I sat up and thought it all over. How strange that I should have "spied" on her just at the moment she was secretly getting her letters. But, I realized, I had looked at the house so often it would be stranger still if I had missed her! And she was to send me her box key, and I was to secrete her letters for her. Important indeed, those letters must be, that she should go to such lengths to get them. Well, I had constituted myself her knight errant in that particular, and I would fulfil the trust.