“Well, I’m not grumbling, sir,” Mr. Coulson assented. “Here and there I may have missed a thing, and the old fashioned way of doing business on this side bothers me a bit, but on the whole I’m not grumbling.” Bransome bowed. Perhaps, after all, the man was not a fool! “I have a good many friends round about Washington,” Mr. Coulson continued, “and sometimes, when they know I am coming across, one or the other of them finds it convenient to hand me a letter. It isn’t the postage stamp that worries them,” he added with a little laugh, “but they sort of feel that anything committed to me is fairly safe to reach its right destination.” “Without disputing that fact for one moment, Mr. Coulson,” Sir Edward remarked, “I might also suggest that the ordinary mail service between our countries has reached a marvellous degree of perfection.” “The Post Office,” Mr. Coulson continued meditatively, “is a great institution, both on your side and ours, but a letter posted in Washington has to go through a good many hands before it is delivered in London.” Sir Edward smiled. “It is a fact, sir,” he said, “which the various Governments of Europe have realized for many years, in connection with the exchange of communications one with the other. Your own great country, as it grows and expands, becomes, of necessity, more in touch with our methods. Did I understand that you have a letter for me, Mr. Coulson?” Mr. Coulson produced it. “Friend of mine you may have heard of,” he said, “asked me to leave this with you. I am catching the Princess Cecilia from Southampton tomorrow. I thought, perhaps, if I waited an hour or so, I might take the answer back with me.” “It is getting late, Mr. Coulson,” Sir Edward reminded him, glancing at the clock. Mr. Coulson smiled. “I think, Sir Edward,” he said, “that in your line of business time counts for little.” Sir Edward motioned his visitor to a chair and touched the bell. “I shall require the A3X cipher, Sidney,” he said to his secretary. Mr. Coulson looked up. “Why,” he said, “I don’t think you’ll need that. The letter you’ve got in your hand is just a personal one, and what my friend has to say to you is written out there in black and white.” Sir Edward withdrew the enclosure from its envelope and raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t this a trifle indiscreet?” he asked. “Why, I should say not,” Mr. Coulson answered. “My friend--Mr. Jones we’ll call him--knew me and, I presume, knew what he was about. Besides, that is a plain letter from the head of a business firm to--shall we say a client? There’s nothing in it to conceal.” “At the same time,” Sir Edward remarked, “it might have been as well to have fastened the flap of the envelope.” Mr. Coulson held out his hand. “Let me look,” he said. Sir Edward gave it into his hands. Mr. Coulson held it under the electric light. There was no indication in his face of any surprise or disturbance. “Bit short of gum in our stationery office,” he remarked.