“Mebbe if you step in an’ wait he’ll be back soon,” suggested the slatternly woman who kept the house. Curly was shown to a room on the second floor back, where he recognized a number of Bill’s belongings scattered about in the usual disorder. Perhaps it was the sight of them which aroused in the young fellow an increasing doubt of his ability to do what he came for. Would this man, who had never been in the habit of taking any one’s advice, listen to him? He wondered, and then, unable to remain still, arose and paced the floor anxiously. Presently he dropped in a chair before a rough deal table, on top of which was tacked a large sheet of blotting paper. A corner of white paper protruded from beneath it, but Curly scarcely noticed this save as something to pluck at nervously with thumb and forefinger. Finally he lighted the lamp, walked back and forth some more, then relapsed into the chair again, resuming his absent plucking of the paper beneath the blotter. Ultimately, of course, he drew it gradually forth, and, catching a word or two of writing, he did not hesitate to read the entire page. It was a portion of a letter, both superscription and first page. Neither was it signed. But there was enough in those few lines to make the riverman leap to his feet with a startled cry of dismay. “Great guns!” he gasped. “Burn the mill--_our mill_? Well, I guess not!” He carried the paper over to the light thinking that he might have made a mistake. But it was plain enough. Having received orders from me by wire in the manner above specified, you will at once fire the mill in the manner discussed by us and decided upon by me at our last meeting. There must be no delay in action. Neither should you step before I order. This is of the greatest possible importance. Kindly advise me you thoroughly understand these instructions. For a minute or two Curly stood staring at this extraordinary fragment. Then his gray eyes gleamed. “Gee!” he muttered. “I sure wish I could find the rest o’ this letter. It sounds like it might be from that old skunk Crane that Bill’s so thick with, but o’ course you never kin tell. It would certain be worth somethin’ to know for sure.” Without hesitation he yanked up the blotter, tacks and all. There was nothing underneath, so he next jerked forth the single drawer of the table, and dumped out its contents. A search through these revealed nothing of interest and he was about to replace the drawer when it occurred to him to thrust an inquiring hand into the space back of it. His fingers encountered paper, and a moment later his eyes gleamed with satisfaction as they rested on two envelopes addressed to his brother in that same erect black writing which had characterized the single sheet. “Got you this time, I reckon,” he muttered, in a tone of intense satisfaction. “If Bainbridge ain’t interested in this----”