Fantasy fiction, English; Paranormal fiction, English
At once I drove to the lodgings in a small street off the Strand which I
was accustomed to frequent in such circumstances. I felt nervous till I
had an opportunity of thoroughly overhauling my documents. The bag had
been opened by the Custom House officials, but the words "private
papers" had sufficed to prevent any further examination; and to my
unspeakable delight they were intact. A glance satisfied me as to this
the moment I got them out, for they were most carefully numbered.
The next morning saw me early on my way to--No. 909, we will
say--Blackfriars Street, where was the office of Messrs. Bluestone &
Fagg. I had never been there before, but it was easy to find, and had I
felt any doubt, their name stared me in the face at the side of the open
doorway. "Second-floor" I thought I read; but when I reached the first
landing I imagined I must have been mistaken. For there, at a door ajar,
stood an eminently respectable-looking gentleman, who bowed as he saw
me, with a discreet smile.
"Herr Schmidt?" he said. "Ah, yes; I was on the look-out for you."
I felt a little surprised, and my glance involuntarily strayed to the
doorway. There was no name upon it, and it appeared to have been freshly
painted. My new friend saw my glance.
"It is all right," he said; "we have the painters here. We are using
these lower rooms temporarily. I was watching to prevent your having the
trouble of mounting to the second-floor."
And as I followed him in, I caught sight of a painter's ladder--a small
one--on the stair above, and the smell was also unmistakable.
The large outer office looked bare and empty, but under the
circumstances that was natural. No one was, at the first glance, to be
seen; but behind a dulled glass partition screening off one corner I
fancied I caught sight of a seated figure. And an inner office, to which
my conductor led the way, had a more comfortable and inhabited look.
Here stood a younger man. He bowed politely.
"Mr. Fagg, my junior," said the first individual airily. "And now, Herr
Schmidt, to business at once, if you please. Time is everything. You
have all the documents ready?"
I answered by opening my bag and spreading out its contents. Both men
were very grave, almost taciturn; but as I proceeded to explain things
it was easy to see that they thoroughly understood all I said.
"And now," I went on, when I had reached a certain point, "if you will
give me Nos. 7 and 13 which you have already received by registered
post, I can put you in full possession of the whole. Without them, of
course, all I have said is, so to say, preliminary only."
The two looked at each other.
"Of course," said the elder man, "I follow what you say. The key of the
whole is wanting. But I was momentarily expecting you to bring it out.
We have not--Fagg, I am right, am I not--we have received nothing by
post?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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