representative of John Fairbanks, straight to the person who wrote that letter."
"Yes," said Van, "that looks all clear and nice enough to you, but I don't know how he might take it."
"You mean the writer of the letter?"
"Of course."
"Whose name is Farwell Gibson."
"I didn't say so," declared Van evasively.
"But I know it, don't I? Have you any reason for concealing his identity?"
"Yes, sir, I have," declared Van flatly.
"Why?"
"I can't tell you that. See here, Fairbanks, you guess what you like, but until I have reported the result of my mission to—to him, I have no right to say another word."
"All right," assented Ralph. "It will all come out clear in the end, only before we drop the subject I would like to make another guess."
"What is it?" challenged Van.
"That man in the long linen duster in the one-horse gig was Farwell Gibson."
