§ 4
He had been clever up to then. Afterwards he became too clever. One of those periodic spasms of brilliance overwhelmed him.
The next morning she received a letter, typewritten, plain paper and envelope, with the non-committal postmark: London, W. It ran:
The person who has undertaken the expenses of Miss Weston’s musical training wishes it to be understood that he desires to remain anonymous. Should he be questioned on the point by anyone he will feel himself justified in adopting any attitude, even one involving departures from the truth, which seems to him best calculated to preserve the anonymity he so earnestly desires. Hence it is obvious that enquiry, however persistent, can elicit no reliable information.
When Catherine read this she laughed outright. The absurdity, the sublime ridiculousness of the thing tickled her. She knew now beyond all doubt that it was George Trant. For this note had “George Trant” written all over it. Only he could have devised something so inanely clever and at the same time so incredibly stupid.
The fact of its being posted only three hours after their interview of the evening before was enough to convince her. He must have gone home direct, written it (he had a typewriter at home, she knew), and gone up to London, W., immediately to catch the eleven o’clock post. She pondered on his choice of London, W. Probably he thought a London postmark would be least likely to give a clue. E.C., the most common, would suggest Leadenhall Street, so he chose W. That, probably, was his line of argument.
It was not a bad joke, she agreed. Yet if he acted upon it she could conceive herself getting angry....