Heinie had not gotten back from Harkness when we sat down to eat and his empty place directly opposite the hearth, with the footprint showing so clear in the light, seemed ominously significant. Even I was becoming affected by the sinister shadow of mystery pervading the Lodge.
I shook myself out of it and tried to make some small talk with Rivers. But of no avail. He seemed more taciturn than ever and answered even Tom in sharp monosyllables. It was probably the weather with him though, I told myself.
We were ready to go to bed. The clock lacked just five minutes of eight when we heard Tom’s flivver rattling up the wagon road. Then it stopped.
“That’s Heinie now!” Tom said, as Brent went up the stairs. But he stopped just before he reached the top, for Heinie had opened the door of the Lodge and walked in.
“I’m sorry to keep you up,” he said to us in an apologetic manner and nodding up to Brent, “but I thought I must tell you so I don’t forget it, yess?”
“Sure, Heinie,” said Tom. “What is it?”
“You know you told me to vatch out vat I spent on der letters. Veil, dere vass only vun letter vat didn’t have postage mit. A beeg fat letter sent to North Dakota. Und der man in der post office told me dere was money in der inside and it needed a register yet. So I got it mit twenty-five cents.”
Tom turned to me questioningly. “Did you write again?”
“No,” I answered, “I did not!”
“How big was the letter, Heinie?” Tom inquired.