Cabby drew up. I alighted, and she silently permitted me to assist her
down. I expected her immediately to mount the steps. Instead, she
hesitated, the knuckle of a forefinger against her lips, and assumed the
thoughtful pose of one who contemplates two courses.
"Have you a stamp?" she asked finally.
"A stamp?"--blankly.
"Yes; a postage-stamp."
I fumbled in my pocket and found, luckily, a single pink square, which I
gave to her. She moistened it with the tip of her tongue and ... stuck
it on the letter!
"Now, please, drop this in the corner box for me, and take this hat
over to Mr. Chittenden's--Sixty-ninth."
"What----"
"Do as I say, or I shall ask you to return the letter to me."
I rushed off toward the letter-box, drew down the lid, and deposited the
letter--my letter. When I turned she was running up the steps, and a
second later she had disappeared.