“What do you mean?” he barked.
“Why, surely you returned for the sack? It was not far from the cabin in which we stayed.” It was Morely’s turn to speak sharply. Incredulously he stared at Hardy’s blank face. “Surely you read my note?”
“What note?”
“The note I placed in the parka pocket. The one you are wearing.”
Hardy dug deep in the pocket. Pressed into a corner was a small folded piece of paper. He had not noticed it before. He drew it out, glanced at it blankly.
Aloud he read:
“I got what I wanted. You will find the mail sack in that wedge of rocks, where I stopped you and the driver, I piled stones over the crevice to protect it.”
The room was silent. After a time: “What did you take from the sack?” Hardy asked.
“A letter. I had no interest in the mail, otherwise. I intended placing it where it eventually would be recovered. Of course my gun threat was only a bluff. I would not have shot—”
“Whose letter was it you ran such risks to secure?” Hardy asked swiftly.