“Ask the lawyer whose name is on the envelope.”

“That is exactly what I intend to do.”

He did not ask me to stay for breakfast.

At ten past ten, I stood at the Main Street post office with my phone against my ear while a clerk behind the counter sorted a tray of parcels.

The attorney’s office had answered on my second call.

A man named Samuel Price had asked me to meet him nearby, and I had agreed before he could change his mind.

His office was above a pharmacy, but we met first at the post office because he wanted to see the envelope before I brought him anything else.