I don't like to write to him — with those messengers of ours you never know who may get hold of your letter — at that Central Station.” He stared at me for a moment with his mild, bulging eyes. 'Oh, he will go far, very far,” he began again. 'He will be a somebody in the Administration before long. They, above — the Council in Europe, you know — mean him to be.

'

“He turned to his work. The noise outside had ceased, and presently in going out I stopped at the door. In the steady buzz of flies the homeward-bound agent was lying finished and insensible; the other, bent over his books, was making correct entries of perfectly correct transactions; and fifty feet below the doorstep I could see the still tree-tops of the grove of death.