Manchurian Books

"I wish you
would tell me some good reason why I should not hand you over to
the Police."
"Oh, please don't!" I said.
"That's eloquent. But not a reason. I'll sit down and give
you a little time. I take it, you did not expect to find me
here."
"I'm in the wrong apartment. That's all," I said. "Maybe
you'll think that's an excuse and not a reason. I can't help it
if you do."
"Well," he said, "that explains some things. It's pretty
well known, I fancy, that I have little worth stealing, except
my good name."
"I was not stealing," I replied in a sulky manner.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "It _is_ an ugly word. We
will strike it from the record. Would you mind telling me whose
apartment you intended to--er--investigate? If this is the wrong
one, you know."
"I was looking for a Letter."
"Letters, letters!" he said. "When will you women learn not
to write letters. Although"--he looked at me closely--"you look
rather young for that sort of thing." He sighed. "It's born in
you, I daresay," he said.
Well, for all his patronizing ways, he was not very old
himself.


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