“Green? I dare say I do. So would you look green....”
She had to sit down and it was only after making repeated efforts that she succeeded in stuttering:
“A man . . . a man spoke to me . . . at the fruiterer’s.”
“By jingo! Did he want you to run away with him?”
“No, he gave me a letter....”
“Then what are you complaining about? It was a love-letter, of course!”
“No. ‘It’s for your governor,’ said he. ‘My governor?’ I said. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘for the gentleman who’s staying in your room.’”
“What’s that?”
This time, Lupin had started:
“Give it here,” he said, snatching the letter from her. The envelope bore no address. But there was another, inside it, on which he read: