"Oh, that's all right. But I think I know about this letter. It was for Miss Wolcott, wasn't it?"
Hunt's surprised look gave confirmation, though his habit of discretion prevented a verbal assent. "That isn't all," he said, hastily, returning to his story. "That was queer enough to set me wondering about it all day, and yesterday, when I went around in the morning, I opened the door just to make myself believe that it really had happened. There on the rug was another letter, just like the one the day before." His eyes sought Lyon's nervously. He seemed to be almost afraid of his own words.
"Another letter for Miss Wolcott?" gasped Lyon, in utter amaze.
"It was just like the first," Hunt persisted doggedly.
"What did you do with it? Did you mail it?"
"I wouldn't touch it. Not for money, Mr. Lyon. Where did that letter come from? That's what I want to know. I wasn't going to have any truck with it."
"But you didn't leave it lying on the rug?"
"Mr. Bede got it."
"Bede! Oh, the devil!" Gasped Lyon. "How did he come to get it?"
"He came in in the morning and I told him what I had seen. I couldn't have stayed in the house without someone knowing. He went in and got the letter, and then he put a seal on the door, so that no one else should get in. He came here again this morning himself and looked into the room, but there wasn't anything on the rug. Do you suppose it was perhaps because the last one wasn't sent? Does he know? I know some as thinks he had truck with the devil while he was alive all right. Say, what do you think about such things, Mr. Lyon?"