"Did you ever try to recover the letters?"
"Once," she said, in a very low voice.
"And you failed?"
"Worse than failed." She threw out her hand toward the note he still held. "Did he not say, living or dead? Mere death could not interfere when he had set his will upon revenge."
"Then whoever wrote this note," said Lyon, thoughtfully, "must have had knowledge of his purposes as well as access to his private desk and knowledge of his personal peculiarities in regard to stamps. Now, Miss Wolcott, you must help me. Who would be likely to know of your letters?"
"How can I tell? I have hardly seen him for four years until--" She broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
"Have you spoken of them yourself to anyone? Any girl friend?"
"No, never."
"To your family?"
"No. I have lived alone with my grandfather since I was fifteen. You know him,--I love him, but he is no confidant for a young girl. I have always been much alone."