“Who sent this?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read it.”
“Possibly not; and yet you might know who was the sender.”
“I don’t see how. I’d just been on an errand right over to Finchley. As soon as I came in that was given me. All I was told was that there was no answer.”
The messenger spoke in a tone of resentment, as if suffering from a grievance. He was a small youth, with crisp black hair and sharp black eyes; combativeness writ large all over him.
“You didn’t see who brought this to the office?”
“I did not.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Victoria.”
“What’s your name?”