Carmen's Messenger

by Harold Bindloss

It looked somewhat bulkier and he examined it carefully, but the cover did not seem to have been removed. It could not have been replaced by another, because the original address was there and he knew Carmen's hand; then there was a seal, which he did not think could have been tampered with. Besides, the man had only had it for a minute or two, and if he had opened it, would probably have taken something out instead of putting something in. Foster decided that he was mistaken about its size and returned it to his pocket.

Then he wanted a cigarette and took out the case he had got in the fur coat. Since he had left the coat in Montreal, the case was the only record of his adventure on the train, and he wondered whether he would ever be able to restore it to its owner and speculated languidly about the man. As the latter knew his name, it was strange that he had not communicated with him at the Windsor, as he had promised. He had obviously not been attacked, because there had been nothing about it in the Canadian newspapers. The thing was puzzling, but after all it did not concern Foster much and he thought about something else.

It was late when he arrived at Newcastle and went to an hotel. There was fog and rain next morning, and he saw very little of the town, which seemed filled with smoke. Taking a tram-car that carried him past rows of dingy buildings and shops where lights twinkled, he got out at the corner of a narrow street that ran back into the haze. After looking at the address on the packet, he plunged into the gloom beside a row of tall, sooty buildings. There was no pavement, and here and there a cart stood beneath an opening in the wall. The buildings were apparently warehouses, but some of the doors had brass plates and lights shone in the upper windows. By and by he found the number he wanted and entered a dirty arch, inside which a few names were painted on the wall. Graham's was not there, but he went up the steps to inquire at the first office he reached.

The lower stories were used as a warehouse and he came to the top landing before he saw a name that seemed to be Danish or Scandinavian painted on a door. Going in, he knocked on the counter. The office was small and shabby and smelt of bacon, which he thought indicated that its occupant dealt in provisions, but he could not see much because of a glass partition. When he was getting impatient, an old man came to the counter.

"Can you tell me if there's a Mr. Graham in this building?" Foster asked.

"Yes, he's here," said the other. "What do you want?"

Foster said he had brought a packet from Canada, and the old man, who looked rather hard at him, lifted a flap in the counter and told him to pass through. A door in the partition opened as he advanced and another man beckoned him to come in. It looked as if the latter had heard what had passed, but this saved an explanation and Foster, who asked if he was Graham, put the packet on a table. There was not much else in the small, dusty room, except a cupboard fitted with pigeon-holes, a desk, and a safe.

"This is from Miss Austin of Gardner's Crossing," he remarked.

Graham glanced at the packet carelessly, as if he did not consider it of much importance, and Foster felt puzzled. The fellow was not as old as Carmen's father, but Foster thought there was nothing about him that would attract a girl used to admiration, as Carmen was. He was certainly not handsome and had, on the whole, a commonplace look, while he was obviously in a small way of business.

"Thank you," he said. "It seems you have been to Edinburgh. We had a branch there, but closed it recently. Newcastle has more facilities for importing our goods. I'm afraid you have been put to some trouble."