“Is this your office, Donald?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What did you take it for? I mean what’s the idea?”
“Just a little flyer in mining stock.”
She looked at me thoughtfully. “You play them awfully close to your chest, don’t you?”
“Not particularly.”
“And I’m not to say anything about those letters?”
“Not to anyone. Let’s see the envelope.”
She handed me the envelope, and I burned the letters carefully one at a time, and ground out the ashes in a cuspidor.
I’d just finished with the last of the bunch when I heard a commotion in the outer office, the sound of heavy steps and then Bertha Cool banged the door open. Henry Ashbury was just behind her.