the dusk of
February and the lamps in Eustace Street had been lit. The man went up
by the houses until he reached the door of the office, wondering whether
he could finish his copy in time. On the stairs a moist pungent odour of
perfumes saluted his nose: evidently Miss Delacour had come while he
was out in O'Neill's. He crammed his cap back again into his pocket and
re-entered the office, assuming an air of absentmindedness.

"Mr. Alleyne has been calling for you," said the chief clerk severely.
"Where were you?"

The man glanced at the two clients who were standing at the counter as
if to intimate that their presence prevented him from answering. As the
clients were both male the chief clerk allowed himself a laugh.

"I know that game," he said. "Five times in one day is a little bit...
Well, you better look sharp and get a copy of our correspondence in the
Delacour case for Mr. Alleyne."

This address in the presence of the public, his run upstairs and the
porter he had gulped down so hastily confused the man and, as he sat
down at his desk to get what was required, he realised how hopeless was
the task of finishing his copy of the contract before half past five.
The dark damp night was coming and he longed to spend it in the bars,
drinking with his friends amid the glare of gas and the clatter of
glasses. He got out the Delacour correspondence and passed out of
the office. He hoped Mr. Alleyne would not discover that the last two
letters were missing.

The moist pungent perfume lay all the way up to Mr. Alleyne's room. Miss
Delacour was a middle-aged woman of Jewish appearance. Mr. Alleyne was
said to be sweet on her or on her money. She came to the office often
and stayed a long time when she came. She was sitting beside his desk
now in an aroma of perfumes, smoothing the handle of her umbrella and
nodding the great black feather in her hat. Mr. Alleyne had swivelled
his chair round to face her and thrown his right foot jauntily upon
his left knee. The man put the correspondence on the desk and bowed
respectfully but neither Mr. Alleyne nor Miss Delacour took any notice
of his bow. Mr. Alleyne tapped a finger on the correspondence and then
flicked it towards him as if to say: "That's all right: you can go."

The man returned to the lower office and sat down again at his desk.
He stared intently at the incomplete phrase: In no case shall the said
Bernard Bodley be... and thought how strange it was that the la