Like I told you before, I didn’t know I was supposed to register for the draft while I was in Mexico, and when I found out about the law last year I was afraid to on account of I thought they might arrest me for a draft-dodger.

But I felt guilty about it and finally couldn’t stand it any longer and came back to El Paso. And then a funny thing happened, Ma. It’s like in a storybook. I met up with a man and got to talking to him and he said why didn’t I go to the Army and tell them the truth about being in Mexico all this time and ask to enlist, only not under my real name on account of it might cause trouble for you and because there’s big things happening here and they need me for sort of undercover snooping because I can talk Mexican good and ain’t enlisted under my real name and all that.

I can’t tell you any more about it, Ma, because I don’t know much more, but it’s some sort of spy ring and it’s awful exciting and maybe I’ll be a hero after all.

So when you write to me address your letters to Private James Brown at the above address and don’t worry about it being anything wrong on account of I think you’ll be proud of me when it’s all over.

I’ve got a pass to go into town this afternoon and meet this man and find out more about it.

I will close in haste.

Your loving son, Jim.

Mrs. Delray watched him eagerly. She said, “You can see for yourself, Mr. Shayne, Jimmie’s wanting to do the right thing.”

He muttered, “Yeah,” absently. His right thumb and forefinger gently massaged his left earlobe as he frowned at Jim Delray’s letter, his gray eyes brooding upon the penciled sheets.

Carefully refolding it and replacing it in the envelope, he looked up to meet the mother’s bright eyes. He shrugged his wide shoulders and said, “I don’t see why you need a detective, Mrs. Delray. If you want to take this up with anyone, I suggest you go to the FBI.”