"Have you got that plain?" I repeated, this time in a voice that was almost thunderous.
"Yes," he finally said. "I understand."
"Then go back into your room there. From that room I want you to bring me a letter. Not any old letter, but one particular letter. I want you to bring me the Carlton registered letter which you signed for. I want you to see it, and feel it, and bring it here."
I threw all the authority of my being into that command. I had to justify both my course and my intelligence. I had to get my man over the high jump, or crawl away humiliated and defeated.
I stared at the man, for he was not moving. I tried to cow him into obedience by the very anger of my look. But it didn't seem to succeed.
"Don't you understand," I cried. "I want you to bring that registered letter in to me, here, now!"
He looked at me a little blankly. Then he passed his hand over his moist forehead.
"But we tried that before," he falteringly complained. "We tried that, and it wouldn't work. I brought the letter in the first time, and you weren't here."
I sat up as though I had been shot. I could feel a tingle of something go up and down my backbone. My God, I thought, the man's actually stumbling on something. The darkness was delivering itself of an idea.
"Yes, we tried that before," I wheedled. "And what happened?"