"Mrs. Wevelspoke, let me look at the letter, please," cried Judith, impatiently, taking the envelope from the old woman. "I can tell you if it's for me in a moment."
It certainly was not for her, as the direction was plain enough:
"M. Jules Guinaud
c/o Wosk & Co.,
Chemists,
Suburban Ironfields."
"No, it's not for me," said Miss Varlins, handing it back reluctantly with a sigh of regret. "But are you sure you have no packet addressed to Miss Judith?"
"It ain't for her," said Mrs. Wevelspoke, putting the Frenchman's letter into the pigeon-hole marked "J." "You want a letter, I s'pose, miss?"
"Yes."
"There ain't no Varlins," said Mrs. Wevelspoke, after a cursory glance at the "V's". "No, miss, your letters is all sent to the 'All."
"This letter I want was addressed to Miss Judith, and would not be sent to the Hall."
"To 'Judas'?" said Mrs. Wevelspoke, catching the name wrongly. "Ho, his letters go to the shop, mum."
"I thought as much," remarked a quiet voice behind Miss Varlins, as she turned to find herself face to face with the speaker and Roger Axton.