The reply staggered me. Speaking as quietly and respectfully as ever, he said: "I can't tell you, sir."
"Do you mean that you are forbidden to tell me?"
"No, sir."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean that I don't know my master's name."
I instantly took the letter from him, and looked at the address. For once in a way, I had jumped at a conclusion and I had proved to be right. The handwriting on the letter, and the handwriting of the confession which I had read overnight, were one and the same.
"Are you to wait for an answer?" I asked, as I opened the envelope.
"I am to wait, sir, if you tell me to do so."
The letter was a long one. After running my eye over the first sentences, I surprised myself by acting discreetly. "You needn't wait," I said; "I will send a reply." The man of few words raised his shabby hat, turned about in silence, and left me.