Pursuit of a Parcel Read Online Free PDF

said Philip Merridew, still with that faint smile.

III
    Emanuel Holt came home with a serious face. He was not as worried as he had been, on account of having seen Mr. Merridew and having received instructions from him which did in a way lift some part of the responsibility from his shoulders. And then Mr. Merridew had been so very kind—“Rather a noble fellow, aren’t you, Holt?” Well now, just think of Mr. Merridew saying that! It made you feel quite hot about the collar. But it would be something to tell Rosie. Rosie would be pleased.
    The Holts lived in a street of small yellow brick houses which, for some reason long forgotten, had been called Adelaide Terrace. It was not an old enough street to have been named after Queen Adelaide of dim but pious memory. Perhaps the builder’s wife had been called Adelaide. Nobody knew, and certainly nobody cared. The houses were semi-detached and all exactly alike. Two steps up to the door and you were in the hall, with the stairs going up in front of you. There were three floors, and two rooms on each—sitting-room and kitchen on the ground floor, bedroom, bathroom and lavatory up the stairs, and two attics above. The front rooms looked to the street, and the back rooms to a very small yard.
    Emanuel hung up his hat and coat in the hall and went through to the kitchen, where Mrs. Holt was frying herrings for tea. Twenty years they had been married, but he had never stopped having just that queer pleasurable feeling of anticipation as he walked down the passage and put out his hand to open the door. Perhaps it was because he was secretly a very romantic person. Perhaps it was because Rosie was so comfortable to come home to. Rain or shine, wet or dry, up or down, there she always was when he came home, and if things hadn’t gone just right—well, Rosie was comfortable. There was no other word for it.
    He opened the door, and there she was, firm and comely, with an apron over her dark red dress, and her cheeks as red as the stuff. Twenty years ago Rosie Adams had been a village beauty—cheeks like apple-blossom, hair and eyes as black as sloes, and a waist as slim as you please. The hair and the eyes were as black as ever, but the apple-blow pink was now apple red, and the waist no longer slim.
    She turned round with the frying-pan in her hand.
    â€œYou’re early, ducks.” And then, as he came over and kissed her, “Cold, too, aren’t you? More like January than October. We won’t wait for Doris—I can keep hers hot. You just sit right down and have your tea.”
    Emanuel held his hands to the range.
    â€œI didn’t feel it till I came in here.” He pulled a chair to the warmth and sat down.
    Mrs. Holt began to make the tea. With the kettle in her hand, she said, “Did you see him?”
    â€œYes, I saw him.”
    â€œWell, that’s something. Did they say how he was at all?”
    â€œI’m afraid he’s very bad,” said Emanuel slowly.
    Mrs. Holt set the teapot and a dish of herrings on the table and sat down. “Pull your chair up, ducks. You’ll feel better when you’ve got some tea inside you. If he was all that bad, they wouldn’t have let you see him.”
    Emanuel pulled in his chair.
    â€œI don’t know, Rosie—they might. You see, they might think it didn’t matter. And they told me I mustn’t stay. I think really they only let me in because he was going on so, and they thought perhaps it would quieten him down. They as good as told me that—said I was to tell him everything was all right and not to worry, and then come away quick. But I said to them, ‘If you’d worked for Mr. Merridew for twenty years like I have, you’d know better than to think he’d be put off that way. He’ll be satisfied with the truth and not one word short of it, and if he isn’t satisfied he won’t rest.’ And I didn’t like to