“I didn’t,” said I. “It was bought in a shop in Paris.”
“What shop?”
“You can’t expect a person to remember the name of a Parisian shop.”
“Where is the firm’s name on the paper?”
I explained that the original wrapper had been left in London.
“What is your business?” demanded the major.
“He’s a correspondent,” replied the inspector.
There ensued the old familiar cross-examination and the request for credentials I didn’t have. The major asked the inspector whether I was carrying any papers.
“These,” said the latter, and showed him the pile of blank copy sheets.
The major dived for it.