“I went round to see you the other night,” he said. “The door wasn’t locked, so I walked in. I went round to see you about that queer mistake. I suppose it’s been puzzling you as well as some of the rest of us.”
Mr. Berquist chuckled and looked round him again. He led Mr. Pinkerton gently along towards the far end of the room.
“About that packet that got delivered to you by mistake,” he said.
He acted precisely as if he expected Mr. Pinkerton to understand perfectly, which, indeed, he did.
“I heard about it yesterday. That’s why I went round to see you. It was all my fault, of course. You remember, when I first saw you, I said you were the spit of my brother-in-law?”
Mr. Pinkerton nodded and frowned at the same time. He disliked all Americanisms, but this one seemed peculiarly atrocio
