She was as struck with the beauty of his plural pronoun as she had judged he might be with that of her own; but she knew now so well what she was about that she could almost play with him and with her new-born joy. “You say ‘about the time you speak of.’ But I don’t think you speak of an exact time — do you?”

He looked splendidly helpless. “That’s just what I want to find out. Don’t you keep the old ones? — can’t you look it up?”

Our young lady — still at Paddington — turned the question over. “It wasn’t delivered?”

“Yes, it was; yet, at the same time, don’t you know? it wasn’t.” He just hung back, but he brought it out. “I mean it was intercepted, don’t you know? and there was something in it.” He paused again and, as if to further his quest and woo and supplicate success and recovery, even smiled with an effort at the agreeable that was almost ghastly and that turned the knife in her tenderness. What must be the pain of it all, of the open gulf and the throbbing fever, when this was the mere hot breath? “We want to get what was in it — to know what it was.”

“I see — I see.” She managed just the accent they had at Paddington when they stared like dead fish. “And you have no clue?”

“Not at all — I’ve the clue I’ve just given you.”

“Oh the last of August?” If she kept it up long enough she would make him really angry.

“Yes, and the address, as I’ve said.”

“Oh the same as last night?”

He visibly quivered, as with a gleam of hope; but it only poured oil on her quietude, and she was still deliberate. She ranged some papers. “Won’t you look?” he went on.

“I remember your coming,” she replied.

He blinked with a new uneasiness; it might have begun to come to him, through her difference, that he was somehow different himself. “You were much quicker then, you know!”

“So were you — you must do me that justice,” she answered with a smile. “But let me see. Wasn’t it Dover?”

“Yes, Miss Dolman — ”

“Parade Lodge, Parade Terrace?”

“Exactly — thank you so awfully much!” He began to hope again. “Then you have it — the other one?”

She hesitated afresh; she quite dangled him. “It was brought by a lady?”

“Yes; and she put in by mistake something wrong. That’s what we’ve got to get hold of!” Heavens, what was he going to say? — flooding poor Paddington with wild betrayals! She couldn’t too much, for her joy, dangle him, yet she couldn’t either, for his dignity, warn or control or check him. What she found herself doing was just to treat herself to the middle way. “It was intercepted?”

“It fell into the wrong hands. But there’s something in it,” he continued to blurt out, “that may be all right. That is, if it’s wrong, don’t you know? It’s all right if it’s wrong,” he remarkably explained.

What was he, on earth, going to say? Mr. Buckton and the counter-clerk were already interested; no one would have the decency to come in; and she was divided between her particular terror for him and her general curiosity. Yet she already saw with what brilliancy she could add, to carry the thing off, a little false knowledge to all her real. “I quite understand,” she said with benevolent, with almost patronising quickness. “The lady has forgotten what she did put.”

“Forgotten most wretchedly, and it’s an immense inconvenience. It has only just been found that it didn’t get there; so that if we could immediately have it — ”

“Immediately?”

“Every minute counts. You have,” he pleaded, “surely got them on file?”

“So that you can see it on the spot?”

“Yes, please — this very minute.” The counter rang ............