"Well, where is it written from?" asked the Doctor. "What do you make that address out to be—at the top of the page there?"
Dab-Dab screwed up her eyes and peered at it closely.
"It looks to me," she said, "like the Harmattan Rocks."
"Where is that?" asked the Doctor.
"I have no idea," said Dab-Dab. "But Speedy will know."
And she went off to fetch the Skimmer.
Speedy said, yes, he knew—the Harmattan Rocks were a group of small islands off the coast of West Africa, about sixty miles further to the northward.
"That's curious," said the Doctor. "I wouldn't have been so surprised if they had come from the South Sea Islands. But it is rather unusual to find pearls of any size or beauty in these waters. Well, these must be sent back to the spoonbill's children—by registered parcel post, of course. Though, to tell you the truth, I hate to part with them—they are so lovely. They can't go before to-morrow, anyway. I wonder where I can keep them in the meantime. One has to be frightfully careful with gems as valuable as these. You had better not tell anyone about them, Dab-Dab—except Jip the watchman and the pushmi-pullyu. They must take it in turns to mount guard at the door all night. Men will do all sorts of things for pearls. We'll keep it a secret and send them right back first thing to-morrow morning."
Even while the Doctor was speaking he noticed a shadow fall across the desk at which he was standing. He looked up. And there at the information window was the ugliest man's face he had ever seen, staring in at the beautiful pearls that still lay on the palm of his hand.
The Doctor, annoyed and embarrassed, forgot for the first time in his post office career to be polite.