“Who is it?”
Dick shook his head.
“This isn’t the time to tell you. I don’t think any useful purpose would be served if I made my views known—even to you. Now what about your cloak-room ticket?”
Dick did not accompany him to King’s Cross, for he had some work to do in his office, and Elk went alone to the cloak-room. Producing the ticket, he paid the extra fees for the additional period of storage, and received from the attendant a locked brown leather bag.
“Now, son,” said Elk, having revealed his identity, “perhaps you will tell me if you remember who brought this bag?”
The attendant grinned.
“I haven’t that kind of memory,” he said.
“I sympathize with you,” said Elk, “but possibly if you concentrated your mind, you might be able to recall something. Faces aren’t dates.”
The attendant turned over the leaves of his book to make sure.
“Yes, I was on duty that day.”