MY DEAR JAMES:
I have been meaning to answer your last letter for several months, but somehow or other I can never settle down to serious work in the early spring. I was very pleased to hear that you are still alive, and mixing in such good society. I have never met any presidents myself, but I always picture them as stout, elderly men with bowler hats and red sashes round their waists. If yours isn't like this, don't tell me. I hate to have my illusions shattered.
I wish anyway that you would come back to London. You were the only friend I ever had that I could be certain of beating at billiards, and you have no right to bury a talent like that in the wilds of Livadia.
If you will come soon you can do me a good turn. I am thinking of opening a garage in Piccadilly on entirely new lines, and I want someone to manage it for me. The idea would be that customers could put up their cars there, and when they came to fetch them they would find their tools and gasoline absolutely untouched. I am sure it would be a terrific success just on account of its novelty. We would call it "The Sign of the Eighth Commandment," and we should be able to charge fairly high prices, because people would be so dazed at finding they hadn't been robbed that they would never notice what we were asking. I am quite serious about this, Jimmy, so come along back at once before the Livadians further corrupt your natural dishonesty.
Talking of Livadia, there is something I want you to do for me before you leave. I have a young and beautiful friend who takes a morbid interest in your local politics, and she is extremely anxious to know exactly what is happening out there at the present time. I told her that if there was any really promising villainy in the offing you would be sure to know all about it, so don't destroy the good impression of you I have taken the trouble to give her. Sit down and write me a nice, bright, chatty letter telling me who is going to be murdered next and when it's coming off, and then pack up your things, shake the dust of Portriga off your boots (if you still wear boots) and come home to
Your friend and partner,
TONY.
"That's very nice," said Molly critically. "I had no idea you could write such a good letter."
"Nor had I," said Tony. "I am always surprising myself with my own talents."
There was a short pause.
"What's Jimmy like?" asked Molly.