“This jaunt to Siberia is a pretty big thing, Marvyn, and as one never knows what is going to happen I think I ought to send some papers I have with me home to my father: my will and some other things. They are very important—some of them, and as my relations with the authorities here have been peculiar, and letters have a knack of getting opened, I want you to send them over under official cover. I suppose there’ll be no difficulty.”
“You don’t mean the—those I have.”
“I mean these,” I said, and took them out of my pocket.
“Oh, that will be all right,” he answered in a tone of relief, and held out his hand for them. “They can go at once if you like. It happens we’re sending off a special despatch to Washington about the China crisis. We’ve had a messenger out with important despatches from the President, and he’s going back with our reply to-day. Give them to me and I’ll see to it.”
“I have a line or two to add to my father first. And now about the important papers. I want you to keep them till I get back from this journey.”
“Don’t ask me, Denver. As I told you, I’d do anything in my power for you, but this is really impossible. Exactly what has happened I don’t know and was told not to ask, but I have to give my word that I’ve returned the things to you.”
I assumed a little indignation of course and argued the point, urging my father’s position and the extreme inconvenience to me in having to take such documents to Siberia, and then very reluctantly gave way and took the packets from him.
He left me then to finish the supposed letter to my father and all I had to do was to change the envelopes and I slipped the dummies into envelopes I had brought with me, endorsed precisely like the genuine ones, and I put the genuine ones into an envelope addressed to my father.
“I wish you could have sent these as well,” I said, in a rueful tone to Marvyn when he brought me an official wrapping; and I pointed to the two carefully addressed dummies.
“I wish I could, but you’ll understand how it is.”