"I don't."
"Ralph Fairbanks."
Van gave a start. He squarely faced his companion now. His blinking eyes told that the machinery of his brain was actively at work.
"Fairbanks--Fairbanks?" he repeated. "Aha! yes--letter!"
His hand shot into an inside coat pocket. He withdrew it disappointedly. Then his glance chancing to observe for the first time, it seemed, the suit he wore, apparel that belonged to Ralph, he stood in a painful maze, unable to figure out how he had come by it and what it meant.
"You are looking for a letter," guessed Ralph.
"Yes, I was--'John Fairbanks, Stanley Junction.' How do you know?" with a stare.
"Because I am Ralph Fairbanks, his son. When you first showed it to me----"
"Showed it to you?"
"Yes."