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held a large manila envelope.
    “Miss Clark—” For the first time she seemed to notice Tony. She stopped in mid-sentence, and looked at him with disapproval flaring her thin nostrils. Until he smiled, and the censure turned to a coy fluttering of her sparse eyelashes. “It’s nice to see Miss Clark with a friend,” she said with a simpering smile.
    “Thank you,” Tony said, giving her the benefit of his most sincere, heart breaker’s grin.
    “Miss Clark, this came for you today while you were out.” She handed Sam the envelope. “One of those new private delivery services.”
    “Thank you,” Samantha said. “I appreciate you’re taking it for me.” She weighed the package in her hand. Thin. No return address. Probably junk mail, not that she’d occupied the flat long enough to receive much of that.
    Miss Hunnicott still lingered. “I knew it must be important. That’s why I waited for you, Miss Clark.”
    “Yes. Thank you,” Sam said again, aware of Tony’s curiosity, and wondering how she was going to get rid of him.
    “Perhaps we could have tea tomorrow,” Miss Hunnicott said in a wheedling tone when she saw she had less than all of Sam’s attention.
    “Perhaps,” Sam said vaguely. “I’ll see if I come in early enough in the afternoon.”
    Miss Hunnicott laid a soft, pudgy hand on Samantha’s sleeve. “Please do, my dear. I’m always glad to have you.”
    “I’ll try. Good night, Miss Hunnicott.”
    “Good night, dear.” She started down the hall, then turned. “I wonder who will move into the empty flat on the second floor. I hope it’s somebody interesting.”
    Sam paused. “Empty flat?”
    “Didn’t you see the sign outside?”
    “Oh. Oh, yes.” It must have gone up only that day. She hadn’t paid any attention. “Good night, Miss Hunnicott,” she said again.
    She entered her flat quickly, without attempting to stop Tony who followed her through the door. She would sort him out later, after she escaped the velvet clutches of Miss Hunnicott.
    “She’s lonely.” Samantha moved to the kitchen to find a letter opener. “No relatives here, and I think all her friends are dead.” Slitting the envelope she looked at Tony standing in the doorway, his hand braced on the frame. “I really am tired, Tony.”
    He gestured at the envelope. “I’ll go in a minute. But look at your mail. It must be important.”
    His behavior was worse than her neighbor’s, Samantha thought.
    She upended the envelope to remove the contents. Out dropped a second, smaller envelope and a folded note. Picking up the note, she read the brief message.
    “It’s from my solicitor’s office,” she muttered. “Strange he didn’t mention it when I had lunch with him today. He could have just given it to me instead of sending it.”
    The note merely said that the enclosed envelope had come for her with a request that it be forwarded to the present address of Samantha Smith.
    “Smith?” Tony said in an odd voice.
    Damn. Samantha crushed the note in her fist, realizing too late that he’d read it over her shoulder.
    “I thought your name was Clark.”
    “It’s a mistake,” she said hurriedly. “They’ve sent it to the wrong person.” She turned, the paper burning her hand. “I think you’d better go.”
    Tony looked mutinous, then shrugged. “If that’s the way you feel about it.”
    Without waiting to see if he went out the door, Sam smoothed out the note. The typed message read: Mr. Collins is out, so I’m taking the liberty of sending this on to you since it appears urgent . It was signed by Collins’s part-time secretary.
    With a sense of foreboding, she picked up the second envelope. In the bright kitchen light, the post office stamp stood out clearly.
    Montréal. The return address was that of Smith Industries. No wonder Mrs. Graham had thought it important.
    Samantha’s face went cold and still. Something was wrong. Smith Industries would not be sending her mail through Mr.