Dear Ad, The weather is rainy here and the beer awful. Am fine and so is the other boys. Don’t fret. As you can tell I ain’t dead by a long shot. You know who.

The handwriting was obviously from a heavy hand. The postmark on the card was dated Paris, December 1, 1911.

“It was followed in a week by a second card,” Adeline said as she handed it to Seagram. It depicted Sacra Coeur but was postmarked Le Havre.

Dear Ad, We’re headin for the arctic. This will be my last message for some time. Be brave. The Frenchies are treating us right. Good food, good ship. You know who.

“You’re certain it’s Jake’s handwriting?” Seagram asked. “Absolutely. I have other papers and old letters of Jake’s. You can compare them if you wish.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ad.” She smiled when she heard her nickname. “Was there any further communication?”

She nodded. “The third and last. Jake must have stocked up on picture postcards of Paris. This one shows the Sainte-Chapelle, but it was mailed from Aberdeen, Scotland, on April 4, 1912.”

Dear Ad, This is a frightful place. The cold is fearsome. We don’t know if we will survive. If I can somehow get this to you, you will be taken care of. God Bless. Jake.

Along the side, another hand had written in:

Dear Mrs. Hobart. We lost Jake in a storm. We gave him a Christian readin. We’re sorry. V.H.

Seagram took out the list of the crew’s names that Donner had read him over the phone.

“V.H. must have been Vernon Hall,” he said.

“Yes, Vern and Jake were good friends.”

“What happened after that? Who swore you to secrecy?” “About two months later, I think it was early in June, a Colonel Patman or Patmore— I can’t remember which came to the house in Boulder and told me it was imperative that I never reveal any contact from Jake after the Little Angel mine affair.”

“Did he give any reason?”

She shook her head. “No, he simply said it was in the interest of the government to remain silent, and then he handed me the check for ten thousand dollars and departed.”

Seagram sagged in his chair as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It didn’t seem possible that this little ninety-three-year-old woman should have the key to a lost billion-dollar ore cache, but she did.

Seagram looked at her and smiled. “That offer of lunch is beginning to sound awfully good about now.”

She grinned back and he could see the mischief in her eyes. “As Jake would have said, to hell with lunch. Let’s have a beer first.”

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