He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin' at her books. She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it.
"Mary," says I, anxious, "you are under the weather. Why don't you go home?"
She held up her hand and stopped me.
"Please don't," she says.
Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And to you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I—I've got somethin' that I must tell you."
'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked at Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late we was both wonderin' what sort of lightnin' was goin' to strike now.
She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin' quick, as if she wanted to get it over with.
"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should be proved that Cap'n Zeb had no part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't his fault at all, the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. You meant that, didn't you?"
Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how—"
"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "I lost that letter."