There was a letter in my coat-pocket which had been given to me in Saigon
to deliver to the Russian consul in Manila. It was an errand for the
cable-operator there, who had done me favours, and I was to leave it at
the Hong-Kong-Shanghai Bank for the consul, who would call for it. That
bank carried an expense account for me, so the delivery of the letter
was of no trouble. The envelope was long and official-looking, and it
fell to the floor of the bus as I clambered in.

Meeker picked it up and handed it to me, but for the instant he held it
he read the address:

Russian Consul,
Care Hong-Kong-Shanghai Bank,
Manila
Courtesy Mr. James A. Trenholm,
Amalgamated Press

"My dear sir," said Meeker, "you have dropped a document--allow me."

"Thank you," I replied, and took the letter, which was quite bulky and
sealed with a splotch of black wax imprinted with a coat of arms or a
crest, or some such insignia. I fear I betrayed my irritation over
Meeker's reading the address.

"No offence, I trust, my dear sir," he said, mild surprise in his tone.

"None whatever," I snapped back; but our companions in the bus smiled and
winked at me openly, as if they appreciated my cold manner toward the
missionary.