“When was that?”

“About half-past twelve, sir.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

The small boy drew a long breath.

“I took up a telegram to No. 891⁠—the lady was there. She opened it and gave a gasp, and then she said, very jolly like: ‘Bring me up a Bradshaw, and an A.B.C. , and look sharp, Henry.’ My name isn’t Henry, but⁠—”

“Never mind your name,” said Tommy impatiently. “Go on.”