“Yes,” I said. “There it is,” pointing to it lying in a tray on the left of my desk. “It is safe to handle,” he said, “and as I am sure of the drift of the contents, perhaps you’ll not mind reading it to me or letting me read it?” I handed the tray to him and he picked it up, carelessly enough. He read it twice and then smiled. Certainly his reactions were a little inhuman: his sense of humor had, I could only suppose, become highly specialized. “It’s well done,” he remarked. “I’m sure you noticed the skillful appearance of clumsiness? He has to get you to answer. It is quite likely you won’t. He must provoke you, so that, perhaps against your better judgment, you’ll dash off a reply, an impatient retort—a few lines and then fling them into the envelope put ready to your hand—and so send the bearish fellow off with a flea in his ear. You react as he planned. Now for my intrusion. Intil ‘by-passed’ you to Miss Brown. So, I confess, did I. You and I had fallen out.
