Chapter VIIIMr Hale was considerably annoyed next morning by the arrival of Mr Egbert Standing and a large leather suitcase full of unsorted papers. One of Mr Hale’s clerks brought in the suitcase and placed it on the floor, whereupon Egbert with a wave of the hand commanded him to open it.
‘It isn’t locked—I never lock things—you just slide back those what-d’you-call-its.’
The clerk slid back the what-d’you-call-its and lifted the top. A mask of crumpled paper met the eye.
‘There!’ said Egbert. ‘My man tells me that’s the lot.’
Mr Hale looked at the suitcase, and Mr Hale’s clerk looked at Mr Hale. A large envelope marked Income Tax lay across a pale blue note. Mr Hale sniffed. A surprisingly vigorous scent of patchouli arose from the suitcase. He suspected the pale blue note—income ta
