I took a good pull at my cigar, and blew the smoke out in a cloud slowly to gain time. “I don’t think I follow you,” I said.
“I understand that you have in your possession three letters addressed to me.”
“I have,” I assented.
“Then I will ask you to deliver them to me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” he challenged. “They’re my property.”
I produced the Postmaster-General’s telegram and read it to him.
“Why, this is infamous!” Mr. Camp cried. “What use will those letters be after the eighteenth? It’s a conspiracy.”
“I can only obey instructions,” I said.
“It shall cost you your position if you do,” Mr. Camp threatened.