"The letter you dropped in the bus." He fairly hurled the sentence at me,
although his voice was low and he was pretending to have trouble with the
saltcellar.

"Oh! To be sure, the letter I dropped in the bus, and which you so kindly
picked up for me. I have an idea that I was rather gruff at the time, and
not at all inclined to appreciate the service you performed. I might have
lost it entirely but for you, so I'll thank you now, with an apology."

"Don't mention it--don't mention it, I assure you. I trust you delivered
it safely."

He had given me the key to the mystery. The letter for the Russian consul
was the cause of Meeker's attentions to me! And, instead of being a
newspaper correspondent, to Meeker I was a Russian agent, probably a spy!
It was all I could do to restrain myself from laughing in his face.

"Delivered it safely," I repeated inanely. "It was only an errand for a
friend of mine, and I left it at the--"

He waited for me to finish the sentence. He forgot himself and failed to
conceal his assumed nonchalance regarding the letter, for, as I cut off
what I was saying, he held his fork poised over his lamb, so intent was
he on learning where I had delivered the letter for the Russian consul.

I seized a glass of water and struggled with an imaginary obstruction in
my throat, and mentally cursing my stupidity in telling my friend's
private business to a stranger who had already betrayed an inordinate
interest in the letter.