She still looked doubtful, and asked, “Then why did papa say just now, ’Fortunately’?”

“He merely meant that it was safer they shouldn’t know.”

“Then it is better to keep it a secret?” she asked, anxiously.

“I suppose so,” I said, and then, added, “Why should you be afraid of asking your father?”

“Because he might—­well, if he knew, I’m sure he would sacrifice himself; and I couldn’t run the risk.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand?” I questioned.

“I would rather not explain,” she said, and of course that ended the subject.

Our exercise taken, we went back to the Cullens’ car, and Madge left us to write some letters.  A moment later Lord Ralles remembered he had not written home recently, and he too went forward to the dining-room.  That made me call myself—­something, for not having offered Miss Cullen the use of my desk in 97.  Owing to this the two missed part of the big game we were playing; for barely were they gone when one of the servants brought a card to Mr. Cullen, who looked at it and exclaimed, “Mr. Camp!” Then, after a speaking pause, in which we all exchanged glances, he said, “Bring him in.”

On Mr. Camp’s entrance he looked so much surprised as we had all done a moment before.  “I beg your pardon for intruding, Mr. Cullen,” he said.  “I was told that this was Mr. Gordon’s car, and I wish to see him.”

“I am Mr. Gordon.”

“You are traveling with Mr. Cullen?” he inquired, with a touch of suspicion in his manner.

“No,” I answered.  “My special is the next car, and I was merely enjoying a cigar here.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Camp.  “Then I won’t interrupt your smoke, and will only relieve you of those letters of mine.”

I took a good pull at my cigar, and blew the smoke out in a cloud slowly to gain time.  “I don’t think I follow you,” I said.

“I understand that you have in your possession three letters addressed to me.”

“I have,” I assented.

“Then I will ask you to deliver them to me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” he challenged.  “They’re my property.”

I produced the Postmaster-General’s telegram and read it to him.

“Why, this is infamous!” Mr. Camp cried.  “What use will those letters be after the eighteenth?  It’s a conspiracy.”

“I can only obey instructions,” I said.

“It shall cost you your position if you do,” Mr. Camp threatened.

As I’ve already said, I haven’t a good temper, and when he told me that I couldn’t help retorting—­

“That’s quite on a par with most G.S. methods.”

“I’m not speaking for the G.S., young man,” roared Mr. Camp.  “I speak as a director of the Kansas & Arizona.  What is more, I will have those letters inside of twenty-four hours.”

He made an angry exit, and I said to Fred, “I wish you would stroll about and spy out the proceedings of the enemy’s camp.  He may telegraph to Washington, and if there’s any chance of the Postmaster-General revoking his order I must go back to Flagstaff on No. 4 this afternoon.”