He went up a short, tiled path and rang the bell. A smart maid-servant
showed him into a small, morning-room, where everything was very neat,
and after a few moments a man came in. He was the kind of man Foster
had expected to find in such a house, well-dressed, with polite but
rather formal manners, and Foster briefly stated his business. He
thought the man looked at him sharply, but it was about four o'clock in
the afternoon and the light was not good.

"Mr. Graham does not live here now; he left a week or two ago," he
said. "Do you know him personally?"

"No," said Foster. "Miss Austin asked me to give him the packet."

"Then you know Mr. Austin."

"In a way," said Foster, smiling. "We speak when we meet on the
street, but don't get much further. In fact, Austin's a business rival
of mine."

The man seemed to ponder for a moment or two. Then he said, "I gather
that you want to deliver the packet, not to post it?"

"That's so. I don't know if it matters much, but I'd like to put it in
Graham's hands."

"Very well. He's gone to Newcastle, but I have his address somewhere.
If you will wait a minute or two, I'll look."

He took the packet, as if he meant to write the address on it, and