ncern of
yours, but it would be Roger's if he had the faintest inkling! Now, I'm
going to tell you one or two things, and you must use your brains to
explain the mystery. You're clever, and true as steel. You've proved
that! Suppose a case; suppose you'd undertaken a dangerous mission. You
have in your charge some documents which could make or break a man. You
know you'll be followed. You nearly miss your train, but you jump on
board at the last minute. You see a man--not the one you expect, but
another just as much to be feared--more, perhaps, because he's a great
deal cleverer, if not so violent. You think you're lost, but you find a
friend, a man who helps you. You give him the envelope that has the
papers in it--a sealed envelope. You've seen it, Clo! He keeps it
through the journey. At a stopping place on the way he offers to hand it
back to you, but you refuse. You feel that the thing is safer with him.
Later, in New York, he returns the envelope intact, the seals unbroken.
This friend who comes to the rescue is the soul of honour. Never since
that moment has the envelope been out of your own keeping. Yet it is
opened to-day for the first time, and the papers that were in it are
gone, changed for stationery of that train, the 'Santa Fe Limited.' How
can this have been done? Who did it?"

"The other man must have done it, the one who followed you on to the
train."

"But he was never near Rog ... never near the man who ... oh, I might as
well tell you right out that it was Roger who kept the envelope for me.
I'll tell you the name of the other man, too. It's sure to slip out! His
name is Justin O'Reilly."

"O'Reilly?" Clo echoed. "How dare the brute have a name like mine?"

"Why, so it is like," said Beverley. "But there's an 'O,' and he spells
it differently."

"Beast! He'd better, or I'd have to change," snapped Clo. "Well,
whatever his name is, I believe he must have stolen your papers. Can you
go back, and live over again every step of the way?"

Beverley shut her eyes, and began to think aloud. "The morning after we
started Roger mentioned meeting an acquaintance ... a man named
O'Reilly. He didn't dream the name meant anything to me. They exchanged
only a few words when Roger passed O'Reilly's table at breakfast time.
Nothing could have happened then, I know. Afterward, I never heard of
their meeting again through the whole journey. I should have heard, if
they had, I think. Roger was with me a good dea