across the faded photograph. "And here's some live love-letters for you. If Wat Lyman's girl is as tasty as her mother, she'll be worth looking for."
Lefty took the picture and Stone intercepted the letters, retying them with their ribbon. When Lefty passed him the photograph in turn he looked at it closely, recognizing the possible value it might have as an aid to identity, but did not give it to Healy when the latter held out his hand for it.
"We'll bury these with Lyman," he said. Healy flashed up. Since the revelation of the treasure he had lost a good deal of his calm suavity. As Lefty put it, he was "quick on the trigger."
"It seems to me you're trying to run things altogether too much, Stone," snapped Healy. "That stuff is community property. There may be important dope in these letters about the location of the mine. And we'll need the picture."
"You said they were love-letters," said Stone, calmly. "If you haven't read them through, so much the better. Lyman told us all he meant to tell us. This is his private property, the more to be respected because he is dead, after making us his heirs. The girl may not be like her mother at all, if we ever trace her. She is likely to have something of her father stamped on her face, I fancy. Anyway, this picture goes where I think Lyman would like to have it, seeing he's kept it all these years; over his heart. The letters go in the coffin, too. How about it, Lefty?" Somehow he felt he could count
