‘This isn’t the lad,’ said Mr. Goon to the post-master. ‘Where’s your other boy? The red-headed one?’
‘We’ve only got the one boy,’ said the post-master, puzzled. ‘This is the one. We’ve never had a red-headed fellow, as far as I can remember. We’ve had James here for about fourteen months now.’
Mr. Goon was dumbfounded. No red-headed telegraph-boy? Never had one! Well then, where did that fellow come from? Telegraph-boys were only attached to post-offices, surely.
‘Sorry I can’t help you,’ said the post-master. ‘But I do assure you we’ve got no red-headed boys at all here. But we’ve got a red-headed girl here - now would you like to see her?’
‘No,’ said Mr. Goon. ‘This was a boy all right, and one of the civilest I ever spoke to - too civil by a long way. I see now! Pah! I’m fed up with this.’
He went out of the post-office, feeling very angry, knowing that the post-master was thinking him slightly mad. He made his way to one of the butcher’s, frowning. Just let him get hold of that there red-headed butcher-boy, delivering letters for the anonymous letter-writer. Ho, just let him! He’d soon worm everything out of him!
Mr. Veale, the butcher, was surprised to see Mr. Goon. ‘Bit of nice tender meat, sir, for you today? ’ he asked, sharpening his knife.
‘No thanks,’ said Mr. Goon. ‘I want to know if you’ve got a red-headed boy here, delivering your meat.’
‘I’ve got no boy,’ said Mr. Veale. ‘Only old Sam, the fellow I’ve had for fifteen years. Thought you knew that.’
‘Oh, I know old Sam,’ said Mr. Goon. ‘But I thought maybe you had a new boy as well. I expect it’s the other butcher’s delivery-boy I want.’