Pursuit of a Parcel Read Online Free PDF Page A

all to pass through his mind. Indeed, they could hardly be said to pass through it, constituting, as they did, his whole attitude towards the horrifying calamity which had overtaken the firm.
    Mr. Merridew moistened his lips and said, “Don’t waste time—they won’t let you stay. What’s been saved?”
    Emanuel passed a hand over his hair. Once ashen fair, it was now of an indeterminate grey. Together with a complete absence of eyebrow or any other hair upon the face, it gave him rather the appearance of a good and serious ferret—a ferret of an affectionate disposition which would never conceivably bite anyone.
    He hastened to be as reassuring as possible.
    â€œThe two safes are intact, sir, and some of the deed-boxes. Mr. Peterson’s office was, I am afraid, completely wrecked.”
    â€œYes—poor Peterson. But my room, Holt—what about my room?”
    Emanuel leaned forward. There was a deprecating sound in his voice. “I don’t know how much you remember, sir, after such a shock, but you had just sent for the papers in the Tweddle case. I was standing on the other side of your table, and was actually about to hand them to you when the explosion occurred.”
    â€œI had forgotten about the papers—they’re no matter. But I’m told you saved my life—if it is saved—by pulling me down.”
    Emanuel looked apologetic. “I’m afraid it was a liberty, sir, and not as successful as I could have wished, but a friend of my daughter’s, a young man in a reserved occupation who has gone in quite a lot for A.R.P. he laid great stress, if I may say so, on the necessity of throwing oneself down as soon as that rather peculiar whistling sound occurs, so I took the liberty, and I hope—”
    â€œNo harm in hoping,” said Philip Merridew with ironic faintness. Then, rather more strongly, “But the papers, man—the papers on my desk—”
    â€œThe papers in the Tweddle case, sir?”
    â€œNo, Holt— not the papers in the Tweddle case. The papers in the Tweddle case may go to blazes. The papers on my table, man—the papers on my table!”
    Emanuel concentrated earnestly.
    â€œWell, the table itself was a good deal damaged, sir. You were, if I may say so, unconscious, and portions of the ceiling continued to fall. As soon as I had dragged you to the doorway—my daughter’s friend has always assured us that a doorway was likely to afford some protection in the case of a house being wrecked—I returned to the table and hastily gathered up everything I could see or reach. I must explain that the table was more or less submerged by rubble, and had also been so to speak telescoped by the force of the explosion. The contents of the drawers will, I trust, be mainly intact.”
    Philip Merridew’s eyes rested insistently on his clerk’s face. “What did you save, man—what did you save?”
    â€œThe Tweddle papers—”
    â€œBlast the Tweddle papers! What else?”
    â€œWell, sir, you must bear in mind that owing to the presence of such large quantities of dust and rubble, my powers of selection were very much handicapped. Bits of the ceiling were coming down all the time, and wardens who had come to our assistance were shouting to me to come away. When I reached the street I found that I had unnecessarily burdened myself with your blotting-pad, inkstand, and calendar. There was also the framed photograph of Miss Delia—”
    â€œNothing else?” said Philip Merridew.
    â€œThere was a package done up in brown paper addressed to Antony Rossiter, Esq.”
    â€œAh!” said Mr. Merridew. He seemed to relax, and closed his eyes. Presently he opened them again. He was smiling a little. “Rather a noble fellow, aren’t you, Holt?”
    Emanuel looked shocked.
    â€œOh, no, sir.”
    â€œI’m glad you saved Delia’s photograph,”