He had just arrived at this comforting conclusion, when an impatient rap was heard on the door, followed almost instantly by Mr. Damsel opening it and entering the room.

In his hand he held a letter, and, full of excitement, he waved it over his head, as he said: 

“He has written a letter.”

A gleam of satisfaction was in Mr. Pinkerton’s eye as he took the paper from Mr. Damsel, but his manner was entirely void of excitement, and his voice was calm and even, as he replied: 

“I expected he would do something of that sort.”

Mr. Damsel—­his excitement somewhat allayed by the nonchalant manner with which the detective had received the news—­seated himself on the sofa.

Mr. Pinkerton read the letter carefully.

It was headed “St. Joe, Missouri,” and addressed to the editor of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, and a large number of sheets, closely written in a backhand, was signed “Yours truly, Jim Cummings.”  It stated, in substance, that the robbery had been carefully planned some time before the occurrence.  That entrance had been gained to the express car by the presentation of a forged order from Route Agent Bartlett, and that Fotheringham was entirely innocent of the entire affair.

The letter related, minutely, all that occurred from the time the train left St. Louis until it reached Pacific.

It told how the messenger was attacked, gagged and bound, and, in fact, was such a complete expose of the robbery that Mr. Pinkerton laid it down with an incredulous smile, saying: 

“Nothing to that, Mr. Damsel.  That letter was not written by the robber, but is a practical joke, played by some one who gleaned all his information from the newspapers.”

“Indeed,” responded Mr. Damsel, “then what do you say to this?” and he handed Mr. Pinkerton two pieces of calendered white wrapping paper, showing the seals of the Adams Express Company upon it, the strings cut, but the paper still retaining the form of an oblong package.

Surprised and puzzled, Mr. Pinkerton saw they were the original wrappings of the $30,000 and $12,000 packages which had been taken from the safe by the robber.  The addresses were still on the paper, and Mr. Damsel, in a most emphatic tone, said: 

“I’m prepared to swear that they are genuine.”

Mr. Pinkerton, still silent, re-read the letter, carefully weighing each word, and this time finishing it.

He came to one paragraph, which read: 

“Now to prove these facts * * * * I took my gun, a Smith we had practiced on, and checked the package in the St. Louis Union Depot, under the initials J. M. Now if you want a good little gun and billy, go and get out the packages checked to J. M. in the Union Depot October 25th; there are probably seventy-five or eighty cents charges on it by this time, but the gun alone is worth $10.  Also, if you want a double-barreled shot-gun, muzzle-loader, go along the bank of the Missouri