be revenged on the man who drove her to desperation. I believe that if I could have seen her then, she would have told me his name and bid me go for him for all I was worth.”
He looked at me. “You don’t believe in impressions?”
“Oh, yes, I do, in a sense. If, as you put it, word should come from her—”
I broke off. The door opened noiselessly and Parker entered with a salver on which were some letters.
“The evening post, sir,” he said, handing the salver to Ackroyd.
Then he collected the coffee cups and withdrew.
My attention, diverted for a moment, came back to Ackroyd. He was staring like a man turned to stone at a long blue envelope. The other letters he had let drop to the ground.