Though he managed to read the address, he maintained his composure and handed the letter back to me.  I started to go out, when Elaine called to me.

“Excuse me just a moment, Mr. Del Mar?” she queried, accompanying me out on the porch.

Already a saddle horse had been brought around for me.

“Perhaps you’d better put a special delivery stamp on it, too, Walter,” she added, walking along with me.  “And be very careful.”

“I will,” I promised, as I rode off.

Del Mar, alone, seized the opportunity to go over quietly to the telephone.  It was the work of only a moment to call up his bungalow where the emissary who had placed the submarine bell was waiting for orders.  Quickly Del Mar whispered his instructions which the man took, and hung up the receiver.

“I hope you’ll pardon me,” said Elaine, entering just as Del Mar left the telephone.  “Mr. Jameson was going into town and I had a number of little things I wanted him to do.  Won’t you sit down?”

They chatted for a few moments, but Del Mar did not stay very long.  He excused himself shortly and Elaine bade him good-bye at the door as he walked off, apparently, down the road I had taken.

. . . . . . .

Del Mar’s emissary hurried from the bungalow and almost ran down the road until he came to a spot where two men were hiding.

“Jameson is coming with a letter which the Dodge girl has written to the Secret Service,” he cried pointing excitedly up the road.  “You’ve got to get it, see?”

I was cantering along nicely down the road by the shore, when suddenly, from behind some rocks and bushes, three men leaped out at me.  One of them seized the horse’s bridle, while the other two quickly dragged me out of the saddle.

It was very unexpected, but I had time enough to draw my gun and fire once.  I hit one of the men, too, in the arm, and he staggered back, the blood spurting all over the road.

But before I could fire at the others, they knocked the gun from my hand.  Frightened, the horse turned and bolted, riderless.

Together, they dragged me off the road and into the thicket where I was tied and gagged and laid on the ground while one of them bound up the wounded arm of the man I had hit.  It was not long before one of them began searching me.

“Aha!” he growled, pulling the letter from my pocket and looking at it with satisfaction.  “Here it is.”

He tore the letter open, throwing the envelope on the ground, and read it.

“There, confound you,” he muttered.  “The government ’ll never get that.  Come on, men.  Bring him this way.”

He shoved the letter into his pocket and led the way through the underbrush, while the others half-dragged, half-pushed me along.  We had not gone very far before one of the three men, who appeared to be the leader, paused.

“Take him to the hang-out,” he ordered gruffly.  “I’ll have to report to the Chief.”