Almost immediately Miss Corrie appeared in the short passage. At the sight of him she seemed to stumble, and as she recovered herself he said—
“Can I see Mr. Corrie for a moment?”
Without answering she turned and went back. It seemed many minutes before Corrie himself appeared. Colin thought he had never seen a more ghastly-looking creature. The countenance was unreadable, but the man’s soul was torn between terror and hope.
As he stepped into the office there was a scarcely audible click from the suit-case.
“Morning,” he said huskily, and ran his tongue over his lips.
“Morning, Mr. Corrie,” replied Colin, fairly cheerfully. He raised the lid and brought forth a sealed envelope without superscription. He handed it over the counter, saying, “You might look and see if the paper enclosed belongs to you.”
Corrie took it with shaking fingers and moved back from the counter. He cleared his throat. “Ye mean me to open it, Mr. Hayward?”
“Certainly,” Colin could have pitied the man as he turned a second film silently into position.
The envelope was very firmly gummed, and Corrie’s fingers fumbled in a fashion painful to witness. But at last it was torn open—the precious letter was in his hand. He looked as if he were going to cry. Now the click might have been ten times louder without his hearing it. He was dazed with relief.
Colin closed the case, feeling almost guilty.