‘Mr. Huston, there’s a man outside named Felix for whom a cask has come from Paris on the _Bullfinch_ and he wants possession now. The cask is there, but Mr. Avery suspects there is something not quite right about it, and he sent me to tell you to please delay delivery until you hear further from him. He said to make any excuse, but under no circumstances to give the thing up. He will ring you up in an hour or so when he has made some further inquiries.’ Mr. Huston looked queerly at the young man, but he only said, ‘That will be all right,’ and the latter took him out and introduced him to Mr. Felix. Broughton delayed a few moments in the inner office to arrange with one of the clerks to take up his work on the _Bullfinch_ during his absence. As he passed out by the counter at which the manager and Mr. Felix were talking, he heard the latter say in an angry tone:-- ‘Very well, I will go now and see your Mr. Avery, and I feel sure he will make it up to me for this obstruction and annoyance.’ ‘It’s up to me to be there first,’ thought Broughton, as he hurried out of the dock gates in search of a taxi. None was in sight and he stopped and considered the situation. If Felix had a car waiting he would get to Fenchurch Street while he, Broughton, was looking round. Something else must be done. Stepping into the Little Tower Hill Post Office, he rang up the head office, getting through to Mr. Avery’s private room. In a few words he explained that he had accidentally come on evidence which pointed to the commission of a serious crime, that a man named Felix appeared to know something about it, and that this man was about to call on Mr. Avery, continuing,-- ‘Now, sir, if you’ll let me make a suggestion, it is that you don’t see this Mr. Felix immediately he calls, but that you let me into your private office by the landing door, so that I don’t need to pass through the outer office. Then you can hear my story in detail and decide what to do.’ ‘It all sounds rather vague and mysterious,’ replied the distant voice, ‘can you not tell me what you found?’ ‘Not from here, sir, if you please. If you’ll trust me this time, I think you’ll be satisfied that I am right when you hear my story.’ ‘All right. Come along.’ Broughton left the post office and, now when it no longer mattered, found an empty taxi. Jumping in, he drove to Fenchurch Street and, passing up the staircase, knocked at his chief’s private door. ‘Well, Broughton,’ said Mr. Avery, ‘sit down there.’ Going to the door leading to the outer office he spoke to Wilcox. ‘I’ve just had a telephone call and I want to send some other messages. I’ll be engaged for half an hour.’ Then he closed the door and slipped the bolt. ‘You see I have done as you asked and I shall now hear your story. I trust you haven’t put me to all this inconvenience without a good cause.’