"Just before twelve o'clock, sir."
"Who brought it?"
"A young woman, sir," said Brown, in a tone of disgust. "A bold thing, beggin' your pardon, sir; and no better than she should be. She bounced in at the door as bold as brass, and sings out, 'Is he in?' 'Get out,' I says, 'or I'll call the perlice.' 'Oh no, you won't,' says she. 'You'll give him that,' and she shoves a letter into my hands. 'Who's him?' I asks. 'I dunno,' she answers. 'It's written there, and I can't read; give it him at once.' And then she clears out before I could stop her."
"And the letter was for Mr. Fitzgerald?"
"Yes, sir; and a precious dirty letter it was, too."
"You gave it to him, of course?"
"I did, sir. He was playing cards, and he put it in his pocket, after having looked at the outside of it, and went on with his game."
"Didn't he open it?"
"Not then, sir; but he did later on, about a quarter to one o'clock. I was in the room, and he opens it and reads it. Then he says to himself, 'What d—d impertinence,' and puts it into his pocket."
"Was he disturbed!"